


All the King's Horses

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek and Jennifer are married, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Prince Derek Hale, Unhappy marriage, Warlord Derek, courtesan stiles, emperor peter hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: Stiles felt overwhelmed when he caught sight of Derek smiling—because of him. A knot tightened in his stomach, realization hitting him that he was starting to care a bit more than he was supposed to.I haven’t seen him smile in a long time. I’m hoping you can fix that.That was what Peter said to Stiles the night he was brought to the palace. And now Stiles was questioning at what cost was he to please Derek.Stiles could handle the gentle touches and passionate kisses. He wasn’t so sure he was ready for the way his heart fluttered with Derek.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 262
Kudos: 2135





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!
> 
> Because of isolation reasons, I've had time to resurrect from old WIPs. I wanted to give you guys something to preoccupy yourselves.
> 
> Stay safe, my dears. I'll do what I can here to keep you entertained and sane.
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> Title is from Karmina's [All the King's Horses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1j2LoW3P14); it really set the pace for this.

John was captain of the Marquis’ guard for more than a decade when he married Claudia, a noble woman whose family was much higher in rank than John’s. Though neither of them seemed to care that they were committing social suicide by eloping in secret.

Together, they had a son—a beautiful and intelligent child that got into almost as much trouble as Claudia had when she was young.

Their happiness and ignorance towards the brewing wars raging outside the city ended the night the Citadel has been overrun with Argent forces.

Claudia had passed only weeks before the sacking of the Citadel, leaving John and Stiles to push aside their grief in mourning her.

Stiles was only nine when John lifted him up onto his horse. He remembered his father telling him to ride outside the Citadel’s walls—to head for the mountain pass and not the docks like everyone else was. He remembered the hidden place there that they often went as a family, enjoying the freedom from snobby socialites. They hadn’t gone since Claudia’s illness grew worse.

Stiles tried to argue with John, begging his father to come with him. He didn’t believe his father’s promise to join him in a fortnight. Tears burned his eyes when his father ushered Farrah to run, spurring the horse into motion. He could hear the soldiers coming into the stables as he fled, his mind racing with concern for his father.

It would be years later when Stiles discovered that he was one of a select few who escaped the Citadel’s sacking alive. He prayed his father was one of the others, though he was certain he would never know for sure.

Stiles waited in their hidden haven for weeks. He counted the moons that passed, wishing his stomach wouldn’t growl with such hunger every morning. He gathered berries and other fruits—the ones that he could remember Claudia teaching him weren’t poisonous. He tried to give Farrah as much food as he could find, allowing the horse to wander around the small encampment in hopes that she could take care of her own hunger better than Stiles could.

When the third week turned into the fourth, Stiles grew nauseous with worry. He dared to travel down the mountain path, searching for someone who could help him find his father. He was foolish to think anyone would help.

Stiles hadn’t known what slavers looked like, never seeing them up close in the marketplace. He was often clinging to Claudia’s skirts as he observed the people around them in the busy square. He cried when they took Farrah from him, their grip harsh and cruel as they dragged him down from Farrah’s saddle.

Stiles cried all through the night in the cage they forced him in. He even cried after the first beating they gave him, unable to silence himself the way they demanded.

The slavers brought Stiles to a foreign market, selling him to make quick and easy money. They kept Farrah.

Stiles had only been a house slave for little more than a year when he was sold again—this time to a pleasure house. He was taught the skills and talents of so many artisans, all in attempts to raise his value and appeal to the patrons his teacher aimed to please. He was thirteen when he served his first patron.

It became easier after that.

At night, Stiles still thought about his father. He wondered what happened to him—if he was still alive. He promised not to cry, not giving into the doubt lurking in the back of his mind.

Would his father even want to know him, now?

It was a question that plagued Stiles’ thoughts the most.

How could one tell his father he was a courtesan? A companion whose body was for sale to the highest bidder—it was a lavish existence that showed Stiles the true price of being owned.

He was a possession, not a treasure. It was something he never thought he’d have to relearn.

Until General Hale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BECAUSE YOU DESERVE TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY

Stiles was sprawled out in his room, draping himself over the lounging couch as he read through his book. He was laying on his stomach, chin propped up on a cushion. He kicked his feet back and forth, swaying his legs through the air as his eyes dashed across the words on the pages. He was wearing his light lounge dressings, finding today much hotter than the previous days. He hoped the rain would soon break through the clouds, his eyes often times just gazing at the storm rolling closer.

The jacket Stiles wore was translucent, the material doing little to hide his body from sight. It hung loosely from his shoulders when he stood, draped collars flowing down his torso refused to cover his chest and stomach from sight.

His trousers were made of the finest silk, a gift from another loving admirer.

“Stiles,” Heather’s voice called as footsteps drew closer. She smiled to herself when she saw that Stiles was unoccupied. She plopped down on the adjacent couch, her hands reaching forward to snatch away Stiles’ book.

Stiles rolled to his side, stretching his hand out to avoid Heather’s reach, keeping the book from her attempts to grab it.

“We’ve been summoned,” Heather chastised Stiles with a soft laugh as she reached for the book again.

“I’ve been given reprieve from all patrons, remember?” Stiles coolly answered Heather.

“You mean you’re being punished for acting out,” Heather replied.

“Castrating a rapist is the punishment for their crime,” Stiles calmly retorted. “I just happened to skip the unnecessary trial.”

“He was a noble—with no living heir,” Heather reminded Stiles.

“He was an animal,” Stiles stated, looking at Heather. “And that’s a cruel thing to compare animals to.”

Heather sighed. “Still,” she began.

“He raped and beat his wife, Heather,” Stiles roughly stated. “I wasn’t going to have his child—and I wasn’t going to leave his wife to a fate she didn’t want either.”

Heather was silent as she looked at Stiles.

“It would have been wrong, leaving her like that,” Stiles softly added.

“Then that’s why she defended you,” Heather answered.

Stiles looked at Heather. “She did?”

Heather nodded. “You’re not being punished for it—she painted you her savior.”

Stiles turned onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes tracked the painted curves of the naked bodies decorating the many arches. He avoided looking at the many cherub faces detailed in the corners. His hand moved to graze over his stomach, thinking about his last time drinking the tea.

It had been a long time since, but it was not the first time he drank it. No, he had grown accustomed to it when his patrons required his services for prolonged periods of time.

And a little piece of him died every time. It was something he never forgave himself for. Not when part of him wanted to keep them.

“Now come,” Heather prompted Stiles to get up, slipping back onto her feet. “Our teacher demands our presence for a very special patron.”

~*~

“One of you will depart to join the Emperor, the other will go to the Marquis.”

That was the only thing Harris said before opening the doors.

Heather stood beside Stiles, her arm moving to rest along his shoulders as she tried to appear relaxed. Her fingers nervously drummed against Stiles’ chair, anxious to see who their guest was.

Stiles remained seated, knowing that he had a role to play—the coy temptation to Heather’s shyness. They were roles that both had familiarity with playing.

Stiles felt his uneasiness grow when he realized who the person standing in front of them was.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Harris bowed in respect to the Emperor, nearly groveling along the ground as he gestured to the cleared way for him. “We’re humbled by your presence.”

“They say your students are the best,” the Emperor simply answered, his eyes taking in the sight before him. “And I’m afraid my nephew is in desperate need of the best.”

Stiles felt something lighten in his chest at that knowledge. To be the Emperor’s Royal Courtesan was a position of high-esteem—and highly dangerous on top of it. But to be a gift for the Emperor’s nephew was different—safer.

“Heather and Stiles are both very skilled,” their teacher explained.

“He’s also very dangerous,” the Emperor answered as he made a half gesture towards Stiles.

Stiles pursed his lips, holding back his remark. He knew when he could talk back to a noble—but the Emperor was above that.

“I need to know if he’s still so brazen,” the Emperor chose to comment. “I would appreciate my nephew to keep his manhood intact—or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He looked at Stiles, observing him up and down.

“It depends, your Majesty,” Stiles answered. He caught sight of Harris giving him a stern look. He knew what he was doing, and he knew that most would demand he shut his mouth.

“On?” The Emperor asked through a faint smile of intrigue.

“How hard your nephew hits,” Stiles answered.

The Emperor laughed after a beat, a light chuckle bubbling up in his chest. “He’s certainly spirited,” he uttered as he looked at the teacher.

“Stiles is eccentric, your Royal Majesty,” Harris quickly started. “He surely wouldn’t hurt a member of the Royal family—”

“I know that,” the Emperor replied, waving his hand in dismissal of the teacher. “He’s sharp tongued and quick witted,” he added, looking at Stiles. “I think that’s exactly what my nephew needs.” He looked at Heather, observing her for a moment. “She’s blonde,” he commented after a moment, sounding completely taken aback.

Heather bowed her head in respect. “I could change it, your Majesty,” she sweetly offered.

Stiles narrowed his eyes as he looked back at the Emperor. Hair color never really mattered to most, but the Emperor seemed conflicted when he gazed at Heather’s golden curls. There was more than a preference swaying the man.

“I’m sure you could,” the Emperor replied, his lips turning into a frown. “My nephew would notice—he’s insufferable like that,” he added. “He doesn’t … he doesn’t like blondes anymore.”

Stiles reached his hand back to touch Heather’s hand in reassurance.

“I’m sorry for that,” Heather offered, disappointment in her voice.

The Marquis was still a great honor, but to be attached to the Emperor would be the greatest. And it seemed the Emperor was making his choice on hair shade. It made sense that Heather would be disappointed.

“You’re also too sweet for him,” the Emperor replied.

“I’m callous,” Stiles told Heather with a soft smile.

“You’ve a silver tongue,” the Emperor replied with a soft scoff.

“Oh, if you only knew the credit my wicked tongue gets me, your Majesty,” Stiles answered as he looked back at the Emperor.

~*~

The gathered crowd cheered loudly, an uproarious noise that blocked out the marching of the army. They were verging on an imposing mass, the imperial guards barely able to contain them from swarming the returning legion.

Derek never paid the crowd attention, his stomach always churning into knots when he returned home. He never liked the triumph, finding it hubristic in nature. He would rather be back in the barracks, among his men, instead of being paraded out in front.

Derek ran his hand along Triskele’s mane, gently calming her as she shook her head in reaction to the overwhelming cheers. Triskele was an unbelievable warhorse, but she disliked crowds in general, usually assisting Derek in battle by easily trampling down any enemy that grew courageous enough to charge towards him.

Derek felt similar to Triskele in respect to crowds.

This triumph was the largest yet. Another province captured for the empire.

Derek’s men carried the spoils back to the empire’s capital, the bodies of the defeated leaders placed on display for the crowds to spit and leer at as they shouted curses upon them. Peter always met Derek at the bottom of the temple’s steps, and the crowd always cheered when Peter embraced Derek.

“Welcome home, nephew,” Peter stated as he reached a hand to hold the straps of Triskele’s bridle.

Triskele released a faint neigh as she tried to pull her head from Peter.

“Triskele,” Derek calmly stated her name, his fingers trailing along her mane.

Triskele huffed in response, easing into Peter’s hold.

Derek dismounted, looking at his uncle once more.

“If you don’t embrace me, the entire empire will talk,” Peter playfully chastised in an amused tone.

Derek suppressed his urge to roll his eyes. He knew Peter understood his hesitance—the moment he embraced the Emperor, he was no longer a general but a prince. And he hated what came with that transition. He moved to embrace his uncle, his shoulder sagging as the stress seeped from his bones, a part of him missing his family and home.

“I am glad you’re home,” Peter uncharacteristically uttered, his hand cupping the back of Derek’s neck.

“As am I, uncle,” Derek weakly uttered, not sure what had happened in the past months that caused Peter to speak those words so publicly.

Peter was reserved in public, oftentimes refraining from showing anyone affection, especially Derek. It was as if he feared what would happen—no doubt the fire still lingering in his thoughts.

Derek’s eyes wandered up the steps in search of his wife, finding her standing at the top, among many of the nobles.

Jennifer was adorned in a purple, the material draped in a lavishing manner as it clung to her body. Her jewels were new and extravagant, not surprising Derek at all. She was staring back at Derek, her face stoic and unmoving despite the celebration.

~*~

Peter clapped a hand against Derek’s shoulder as they walked down the hallway. “I tell you, everyone thought it’d be a foolish endeavor, but as always you pulled it off.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “At a cost.” His gaze followed the servants busily running around the halls to prepare for tonight. Another party for his return, no mourning for the soldiers lost.

Peter frowned at that. “I know you understand better than anyone what that cost is,” he answered.

Derek shook his head. “How many more, Peter?” He looked at his uncle. “How many more battles do I have to win before the expansion ends.”

Peter frowned for a moment. “I have something I want to show you,” he offered. “I’ve been planning it for a few years now, and I think I figured it out.”

Derek looked confused by Peter’s words.

“I’ll explain all when we have a moment alone,” Peter nodded, hoping Derek would understand.

Even the palace walls had eyes and ears that liked to eavesdrop.

“Alright,” Derek agreed.

Peter smiled at that. “I’ll see you tonight, then,” he pleasantly stated, turning to walk away. “Oh!” He turned, continuing to walk backwards as he spoke, “I got you a gift—for after the party.”

Derek waved a hand in thanks, sighing to himself as he assumed it was another set of armor or warhorse. He was too tired to care, wanting nothing more than a bath to relax and wash away the dirt from traveling.

~*~

Derek closed his eyes as the hot water soothed his aching muscles. He let his head fall back against the lip of the tub. His hand ran through his hair, swiping the strands backwards with help from the water. He moved his arms to rest them against the curve of the tub, his fingertips tracing along the intricate design he found that he grew to miss while at war. He didn’t care how much time began to pass, finding little concern with whether or not he missed the celebration tonight.

It had been months since he did more than the common wipe down between battles. The smell of the oils and soaps the servants laid out were stronger than he was used to, their strong smell almost giving him a headache upon initial scenting.

The perfumed smell meant to hide the stench of the dead. He recalled the images of the priests walking through the camps with burning incense. The stench stuck in his nose, only overlapping the smell of rotting corpses.

How many dead did he wade through? How many died for their cause?

Derek feared to think that Peter might not send him back. If he stayed, he’d be confined to the palace—victim to a life he had no desire of having.

A soldier stuck in civilian life, in a loveless marriage.

Derek ceased his desire to startle when he felt a delicate hand run along his shoulder. He knew it belonged to Jennifer, recognizing the cold metal of her rings, the sharpness of her nails harshly grazing his skin. He easily snatched her wrist when her hand began to move down his chest, her fingertips grazing the hair trailing along his abdomen just below the water’s surface. He pushed her hand away from him, not bothering to open his eyes. He almost marveled at her ability to ruin his peace.

“You can’t leave me alone to relax,” Derek more stated than questioned, opening his eyes when he heard her scoff.

“You can’t be bothered to do your duty and give me a child,” Jennifer bitterly snipped.

“The court talking again?” Derek replied in an uninterested tone as he rose from the water, no longer feeling at ease in Jennifer’s presence. He wrapped the linen cloth around his hips as he moved across the room to inspect his attire for the evening. He’d dry himself later, after Jennifer left him alone.

“Your uncle is unhappy,” Jennifer replied, placing her hands on her hips as she watched Derek.

“Peter’s never unhappy,” Derek countered.

“Right now you’re the only heir to his line,” Jennifer snapped, having had this fight with Derek before.

“And if Peter wants another heir, he’ll place another heir in a welcoming womb,” Derek replied.

“It wouldn’t be a legitimate heir,” Jennifer grumbled. “You know a bastard could never inherit any of Peter’s holdings.”

“My mother was a bastard,” Derek answered, finally turning to look at Jennifer. “Your distaste for bastards doesn’t run in every social circle. There are more than a handful of nobles I can name—off the top of my head—that have more than one bastard waiting to inherit.” He paused, carefully evaluating Jennifer’s features. He released a faint huff of laughter. “You’re worried that I’m going to father a child out of wedlock, making you, more or less, irrelevant.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes on Derek, refusing to confirm or deny him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Derek answered, turning back to the several outfits laid out for him.

“Why won’t you give me a child?” Jennifer demanded.

“Because you shouldn’t be a mother,” Derek answered, not caring if Jennifer feigned to be hurt by his words. He knew exactly what a socialite like Jennifer wanted with a child—she wanted to raise a means to an end, fashioning a way for her to get rid of her need for Peter and Derek.

She didn’t want a child to love.

And Derek was certain he shouldn’t be a father. He knew he was more monster than man now.

~*~

Stiles had been brought to the prince’s room just as the party had been put underway. He was interested in the secrecy, knowing it had to do with more than just the prince.

“The prince’s wife will not like you,” the chambermaid offered as she finished pouring more hot water into the bath.

Stiles made a sound of understanding. “Spouses never do,” he replied.

The chambermaid looked at Stiles. “You need to be careful,” she offered in warning.

Stiles was surprised.

“She is a jealous woman,” she softly stated, her voice small and silent for fear of being overheard. “She’ll do anything to keep the prince under her.”

“The Emperor made it sound as if the prince hasn’t been under her in a while,” Stiles remarked.

The chambermaid frowned. “He has left her bed vacant for a long time—barred her from his own bed, too.” She took a step towards Stiles. “She wants a baby.”

Stiles’ features fell some, his careless mask cracking just a little. “Many wives do,” he replied.

“He won’t give her a baby, and she won’t have a bastard,” the chambermaid warned.

Stiles nodded. “Thank you for letting me know,” he replied as he watched the woman depart. He sighed, wondering if he was being punished now.

To be the private courtesan of the Royal Prince was as much a death sentence as it was an honor. He knew one wrong step could land him on the executioner’s block—one displeasing action, and the prince could throw him away.

He tried to forget his worries as he disrobed, preparing to slip into the bath. He had to mentally prepare himself for the next hours, knowing his future would be dictated by them—as they always did whenever he acquired a new patron.

Perhaps, with some luck, the prince would be his last.

~*~

Derek was happy that he was able to retire early from the party. He had been dreading the irritation he had with attending a public outing once returning home. He hated how much he wished he was back in the barracks with the soldiers—away from the court; from Jennifer.

The moment Jennifer entered the ballroom, Derek asked Peter to be excused. He could do without the pathetic show Jennifer was bound to try and put on—pretending to miss him; to be the doting wife she wasn’t.

Derek found himself searching the halls until he came to the library. He liked to spend his time in the library, away from the worry of court life. He liked being alone with the ghosts of the past. The library made him feel closer to his family—his mother’s portrait hanging above the fireplace, looking down over him.

He leaned against the chair facing the fireplace as he looked up at her.

Talia had long black hair, the top neatly pleated into a braid that held the silver circlet in place on her head. Her eyes were a warm green, the speckled shades of blue and brown in them—eyes Peter often said Derek inherited. Her skin was a gorgeous shade of olive tone, cheekbones sharp and regal. She had the faintest smile on her lips, as if she was amused by whatever Peter must have said to the painter.

Derek hated that his mother’s portrait was locked away in the library, hidden from most. He knew why Peter did it—the rumors had spread when Peter was inconsolable after Talia’s death. A brother mourning a sister—others said his reaction was too emotional, a visceral outbreak of emotions that hinted at something unsavory.

Peter wasn’t ignorant. He knew people accused him of incest. He knew more than one noble believed Derek to be his son, Derek’s father having been at war during his birth. It was a wicked rumor that spread to discredit Derek, and to tople Peter.

The world seemed to not understand that brother and sister could love one another without it being nefarious—sinful or wrong.

Peter loved Talia for her fierceness, her intelligence, and her kindness. He loved his sister despite her being a bastard. He loved Derek as an extension.

And that wasn’t acceptable to the court.

“I wish you were here,” Derek whispered as he looked at his mother.

~*~

When Derek finally returned to his room, he wasn’t surprised to find it occupied. His eyes immediately honed in on the movement beneath the furs adorning his bed. He could smell the salty-sweet aroma of bath oils—ones he wasn’t familiar with. These didn’t burn his nose like the other ones had. He grumbled under his breath, not wanting to deal with Jennifer’s attempts to woo him into sleeping with her.

“I’d rather not play any games tonight,” Derek finally stated, not even bothering to address her as he tossed his doublet over the chair by the fireplace.

“Very well. But your uncle did say that I was meant to entertain you,” a smug, baritone voice answered him.

Derek whipped his head around, staring at the furs. He was mesmerized as the furs slowly slipped down the bed, revealing the body beneath them.

Light auburn hair peered out over the top, followed by pale skin and a pair of amber eyes outlined by dark charcoal drawn around them. Moles plotted across the pale skin, creating small symbols here and there that begged to be traced. Bowed, pink lips parted in a smile.

“He thought you would like me,” the man explained, his voice calm and even as his feet gently pushed the furs away from his body. He slowly eased them away from his skin, revealing himself inch by inch—completely aware of the way Derek’s eyes were tracking the movement of the furs.

“Was he right?” He asked once the furs left his body completely. He leaned his head back, a technique he used more than once to make his neck appear longer than it was—it seemed to appeal to most men, and if the way Derek’s throat bobbed was any way to tell, Derek enjoyed it too.

“My uncle purchased you?” Derek asked, his voice finally coming back to him.

“He did,” the young man answered, sitting up some as he moved his body towards the edge of the bed.

“Then perhaps you should go find my uncle’s rooms,” Derek answered, turning away from the stranger. “Warm his bed.”

“Your uncle expressed the urgency of your situation,” the boy stated, leaning forward as he placed his hands by his hips on the bed. Despite Derek’s back being to him, Stiles kept his body on display.

“Did he?” Derek sighed, pulling his shirt off over his head, throwing it to join his doublet. “And what did he have to say.”

“He said you needed some …  _ motivation _ ,” he smirked.

“What is your name?” Derek asked as he turned to look at him, immediately regretting his own urges to touch.

“You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it,” the man stated, a fond smile crossing his lips as he held Derek’s gaze. “I answer to Stiles.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked in disbelief.

“It’s not my fault that my native land has names deemed unpronounceable by your Emperor,” Stiles answered.

“You’re awfully defiant for a slave,” Derek replied, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to stop himself from reaching for the boy.

“I’m not a slave,” Stiles answered, a flash of annoyance at the use of the word crossing his eyes. “I’m a courtesan.”

“A courtesan?” Derek parroted, arching his eyebrows in question.

“My, what expressive eyebrows you have,” Stiles answered.

“I want you to leave,” Derek ignored Stiles’ previous statement, despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to just give in for once.

Stiles smelled lovely. There was no other way to describe it. Like a field of wildflowers, something Derek often cherished before the stench of a battle ruined it.

Stiles rose from his spot on the bed, not bothering to hide any part of himself—Derek was grateful for it—as he slipped into his discarded robes. He kept his eyes on Derek as he pulled an arm through the flowing material.

“It really is a pity,” Stiles answered as he slipped his other shoulder into the robe. “I was looking forward to you.”

The material of Stiles’ robe did very little to hide anything. His entire body outlined in a shadow by the silk material. The material swayed as he moved to exit Derek’s room, a small bow of his head.

Derek couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He reached a hand out, grabbing Stiles’ bicep to stop him from moving.

Stiles paused his movement, turning to look up at Derek. A small hint of a knowing smile graced his lips as he waited for Derek to make his move. He turned his body into Derek’s when Derek’s hands moved to undo the belt that precariously held the folds of his robe together. He shrugged the robe off of his shoulders, allowing the material to fall from his body once more. A shiver ran through his body in pursuit of the way Derek’s hands moved down his body.

Stiles didn’t bother to suppress the moan that snuck up through his chest as Derek’s fingers moved to slip down past his cleft. He fell forward, against Derek’s chest as his hands moved to grip Derek’s shoulders—an attempt to steady himself as he spread his legs to get Derek better access

“I take it that you want me to stay,” Stiles managed to state against Derek’s lips. He bit his bottom lip as Derek crooked his finger, easily slipping inside of him thanks to Stiles’ earlier preparations.

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’, swallowing down any moan Stiles had to offer him as he moved them back to the bed. Derek wanted to claim—it had been a long time since he gave in.

Stiles allowed Derek to push him back onto the bed. He began to turn onto his stomach, years of experience with men who wished nothing more than to have something to mount leading his movements. He was surprised when Derek pulled his legs, moving his ass resting against the edge as Derek settled between them.

Stiles wasn’t accustomed to facing his patron—most wanting just to get inside him, not to look at the face attached to the hole they purchased. Sometimes, when he was ordered to be on top, riding them to completion, Stiles would face them, but never look them in the eye. He watched as Derek’s eyes trailed his body, a hungry look falling over him. He bit his bottom lip when Derek placed a kiss to his chest. He ran his hands over Derek’s shoulders, his nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades when Derek’s tongue lapped at his nipple.

Derek’s mouth trailed a line from Stiles’ chest to his abdomen. He pressed his nose against the trail of hair dusting across Stiles’ navel. He grew hungrier with want to consume what Stiles was tormenting him with. He nipped at the skin in the furrow of Stiles’ hip, moving down where Stiles’ scent was strongest.

Stiles released a pleased sound when he felt Derek’s fingers run along his rim, teasing him before slipping inside his already prepped hole once more. His legs shook as he closed his eyes against the pleasure of Derek’s mouth enveloping him.

It wasn’t something men of Derek’s stature did. Never. Whores and kept lovers would please with their mouths, but a noble, let alone a prince, was never expected to do such things.

Stiles moaned, biting back a curse as his hands shot out to grip at Derek’s hair. He begged him, pleading with Derek to keep going. He rocked his hips in waves, moving against Derek’s fingers before pushing into his mouth. He planted his feet against the mattress, his legs shaking as he nearly pleaded to wrap them around Derek’s head.

Stiles pressed his head back into the bed, moaning as he kept his eyes clamped shut, begging for release. For once, he didn’t have to fake the noises blossoming up from his chest. Every noise spilling from his lips was real, Derek pleasing him at every point.

Stiles was a professional, he would tell himself later. But there was something in the way Derek moved—in the dedication he showered over Stiles’ body. The familiar warmth started to spread through his pelvis, working its way up through his stomach and into the small of his back. His movements stuttered some as he tried to hold back, it being years since he was unable to hold back his orgasm.

“Your highness,” Stiles weakly uttered in warning. He released a harsh moan as he grabbed for Derek’s head. “Your highness, stop, I’ll come,” He pressed with urgency in his voice.

Derek pulled off Stiles’ cock, looking up at him. He tightened his hold on Stiles’ hips. “My name is Derek,” he stated before taking Stiles back in his mouth.

Stiles breathily moaned as the heat of Derek’s mouth enveloped him again. “Derek,” he loudly moaned his name.

Derek could feel his nails digging down into Stiles’ skin, conscious of the way he was marking Stiles’ lithe body. He wanted to devour the pleasure Stiles was giving—to get lost inside it.

Stiles allowed his head to loll to the side, his legs almost uselessly draped over Derek’s shoulders now. He opened his eyes to catch sight of the doors to Derek’s room open, a woman standing in the archway, watching them.

Stiles had grown accustomed to people watching him with his clients, oftentimes a power play being ignited between them. But he could tell when someone stumbled upon such acts by accident, and when they were not happy to see them take place.

The woman looked furious.

“Wait,” Stiles urgently stated, his hands moving to Derek’s hair, trying to stop him. A shudder ran through him when Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’ hips, a redoubling in Derek’s efforts to get Stiles to come. “We have company,” he shuddered out in a breathy plea for Derek to stop and address whatever courtier had stumbled upon them.

Derek reluctantly slipped Stiles from his mouth, his hands still tightly holding onto Stiles in a selfish manner to not let go. He turned his head to look at the door, catching sight of Jennifer standing there. He released an annoyed huff, moving to stand. “I’ll be right back,” he uttered to Stiles just as he slipped his hands from Stiles’ skin, already missing the smoothness beneath his calloused palms. He took a lingering look at Stiles spread out on the bed, deciding he wasn’t going to lose such a sight, having to adjust himself in his trousers.

Stiles sat up, curling his legs against his chest to hide his body from Jennifer’s murderous glare.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked of Jennifer when she dared to take a few steps into his room.

“How dare you,” Jennifer hissed at him.

Derek rolled his eyes. “I’m allowed to dare,” he retorted. “Besides, it has been a while since I’ve taken any pleasure in it.”

Jennifer smacked Derek.

Stiles grimaced some, though he was glad it wasn’t him when he saw just how sharp Jennifer’s nails were. He could see from his spot on the bed that she had dug her nails in on purpose, leaving small bloodied marks along Derek’s cheek. Though, to Derek’s credit, he didn’t flinch.

“Get out,” Derek simply uttered, his voice tired with annoyance.

“So you can fuck a whore but not your wife?” Jennifer demanded.

Derek grabbed Jennifer by her arm, escorting her out into the hallway so Stiles can't hear.

“He's not trying to get a baby from me,” Derek snapped. He released his hold on Jennifer, moving back into his bedroom as he started to close the doors.

“I’m sure he’s used to being fucked—one after another,” Jennifer bitterly snapped.

“Whether he’s been fucked by one or a thousand men, it doesn’t matter to me,” Derek answered. “Regardless, I’m the one that intends on fucking him tonight.” He slammed the doors before latching them. He pressed his forehead against the doors as he drew in a breath through his nose.

“I apologize for her behavior,” Derek stated as he turned to take calculated steps back towards the bed.

“I’ve been called worse,” Stiles offered with a shrug.

Derek couldn’t miss the small sadness Stiles unconsciously emitted.

“Besides,” Stiles started, trying to break the silence. “Courtesan is just a gilded way to say ‘fancy whore.’”

Derek’s eyes scanned Stiles’ body. It was easy for desire to flare in his body once more, regardless of Jennifer’s interruption. He was concerned that Stiles wasn’t as invested as his previous moans suggested.

“I’m more upset with her interrupting my orgasm,” Stiles commented, allowing his legs to slip down from where they covered his body. “I’m not opposed to picking up where we left off.” He arched a suggestive eyebrow at Derek. “Unless you’ve lost interest.” He smiled as he looked down at the bulge in Derek’s trousers.

“Far from it,” Derek remarked as he moved to stand between Stiles’ splayed legs.

Stiles closed his legs some, tightening the grip his thighs had on Derek’s hips. He curled his leg around Derek’s waist, waiting expectantly as he rubbed the inside of his smooth thigh along Derek’s bare skin. “I’m at the mercy of his highness’s pleasure, then,” he remarked with a smirk.

Derek pulled at the ties of his trousers, loosening them in order to rid himself of them. He placed his knee on the edge of the bed, forcing Stiles’ leg up higher.

Stiles gripped Derek’s arms as he settled in the bed, breath hitching as Derek pressed into him. His mouth dropped open in pleasure. “Derek,” his moan hiccuped out as he opened up for Derek. His breath caught when Derek moved.

It had been a while. Stiles was certain it had been a while for Derek too when the other man paused after the second thrust, brow pinched with concentration.

Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s brow. “I could ride you, should you prefer.” He smiled when Derek shuddered against him.

Derek leaned back, hands moving to grip Stiles’ hips tightly. He expertly lifted Stiles’ hips as he thrusted back into him. It was a hard, rough test. “Later,” he gruffly answered.

Stiles moaned, nodding his head.

The slap of skin against skin echoed against the backdrop of both their panting moans.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s arms for purchase when his pace didn’t seem to falter. “Gods,” he shook as he breathed out a curse in his native tongue, his accent a bit stronger.

Derek’s body bracketed Stiles’ against the bed, the angle shifting them both. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist, snaking beneath the small of the other man’s back. He lifted Stiles with ease, hauling him into each snap of his hips.

“Fuck!” Stiles cursed loudly as Derek continued to hit the right spot.

Stiles’ back impossibly bowed when his climax hit, his nails scratching at Derek to pull him closer just as the palms of his hands pressed to distance himself. He shook and spasmed, one of his legs shaking in the aftershocks. He panted heavily, too distracted to move against Derek’s last erratic thrusts. He deeply moaned when Derek came, his arms moving to wrap around Derek’s back when the other man collapsed against him. He ran his hands through Derek’s hair, breathing out a laughter of content.

“The Emperor made you sound celibate,” Stiles uttered once their breathing started to level out. “That or you’re a natural.”

Derek huffed out a small chuckle as he moved to separate himself from Stiles.

Stiles made a small noise as Derek slipped out of him, his hands sliding across Derek’s skin as the other man laid out on the bed beside him.

Derek idly reached his hand out to touch Stiles’ leg, caressing the soft and toned skin on the inside of Stiles’ thigh. “That, or you bring out the best.”

Stiles snorted out in laughter. “You’re so much more fun than I thought you’d be.”

Something settled loosely in Derek’s chest, making him think that maybe he should have taken a lover a while ago. Though he doubted he could have found Stiles on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this response is amazing. Thank you, thank you. I'm so glad you are enjoying this fic. I hope you enjoy this new chapter.
> 
> <333

Stiles was busying himself with getting ready for the banquet, sitting at the vanity someone must have had set up for him when he realized it had no contents on or in it. He slowly unpacked his things before taking his time to sit down and begin his daily beauty regime.

He smiled to himself when he caught sight of the lover’s bite along his collarbone. He pressed his fingertips to the bruise, closing his eyes as he recalled Derek’s mouth sucking and biting down as he fucked into him. He could admit that Derek was an attentive bed partner, and was pleasantly surprised that the prince knew what he was doing.

Stiles had been amazed by the contrast in Derek’s body compared to so many nobles.

Derek’s body was battle hardened—strong and muscular, forged in the way of a war torn battlefield instead of backroom politics. His hands were calloused, not soft and inept. He wore his hair longer than those deemed civilized, small braids pleated to keep his hair from his face. His beard still kept, despite his return to the capital.

And the scars.

Derek had scars that spanned his body, old and marred reminders of the battles he fought alongside his soldiers. He was an experienced warrior, one who fought for an end, not for the bloodshed. He had marks along his back and sides, something Stiles knew came from shielding another from a blow. He would tense some when Stiles’ hands had touched the worst of the scars, but would relax once he realized Stiles’ touch was a caress in adoration.

Stiles didn’t pull away, even as some physicians had when inspecting the wounds.

Derek wasn’t sure if it was experience—an expertly crafted lie to show acceptance when it was so desperately sought. Even if it was a lie, it was too beautiful to reject.

Stiles wouldn’t lie—he was attracted to how different Derek was. He found pleasure in the unabashed manner Derek had when touching him. Despite how pleasurable their nights were, he didn’t look forward to this banquet, knowing that he’d have another obstacle to overcome now—finding favor with the same court Jennifer appeared to be a favorite in.

Derek entered his bedroom, forgetting for a moment that Stiles would be there. He paused and watched as Stiles continued with his beauty regime.

It had been a little more than a week now. Stiles remained in Derek’s bed, both of them enjoying the shared pleasure. But now there was a party to attend, and Peter made the decision to invite Stiles to join them.

Derek would have rather remained behind closed doors, with no one but Stiles. He found himself enjoying his time with Stiles, not just the sex. He would listen to Stiles’ opinion on something new that he read. He was unsure when Stiles initially showed interest in what he was reading, reluctantly sharing his scrolls and books. It was strange for Derek to have someone actively searching his companionship.

Stiles arched his eyebrow as he looked at Derek through the mirror’s reflection. “Am I doing something wrong?” He promptly asked.

Derek offered a small shrug. “Wouldn’t know,” he answered.

Stiles smiled at that. “I have to make myself presentable for the banquet.”

Derek grumbled at that.

“You don’t like the court, do you?” Stiles asked as he tousled his hair some, adding some paste to make it hold its form better. He looked at Derek through the mirror.

“They’re pompous liars,” Derek offered as he moved to sit in one of the armchairs. It was strange having someone in his rooms that he could talk with. He would sometimes call for Boyd to help him pick from one of various outfits, never knowing what was in fashion. But Boyd was more a listener than talker, and Derek didn’t really talk—they had a mutual understanding that both valued silence over the uproarious noise of a banquet hall.

“That’s a given,” Stiles smiled, turning his attention towards the various smudging tools he had. He dipped the end of one utensil into the black paste he had chosen to bring with him. He applied the make up with ease, highlighting his eyes just beneath his eyelashes. He caught a side glance of Derek watching him. “You know they are liars, so you can play them at their own game.”

Derek seemed surprised by Stiles’ words. “You’re for the court,” he commented.

“I acknowledge that there is no getting rid of them,” Stiles answered. “And it’s my job to make up a tale that intrigues them,” he added as an afterthought, examining his work in the mirror. “Nobody is interested in the son of a fallen guard captain and dead lady of the Marquis’ court,” he gruffly stated.

Derek looked at Stiles, evaluating him. “Your parents were in the Marquis’ Citadel when it fell?”

Stiles pursed his lips some when he finished his other eye. He set his utensil down, turning on his stool to look at Derek. “Yes, so was I.”

“That’s how you became a slave,” Derek answered.

“I told you, I’m not—”

“You were,” Derek corrected Stiles.

Stiles’ features fell into an annoyed expression. “How do you know?”

Derek shook his head. “Wasn’t hard to tell you had anger for the slave market,” he explained. “You’re a courtesan now, but you weren’t always.”

Stiles released a sharp breath. “I was sold to a whorehouse when I was ten,” he finally stated. “I didn’t become a courtesan until I was sixteen. I spent three years servicing patrons in the brothel.” He pinned Derek with a look. “So your wife was right when she said I’ve been fucked by a lot of people.”

Derek appeared unaffected by Stiles’ words. “And now?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, unsure what he was looking for. “And now I’m being fucked by the Royal Prince of the Emerald Empire. Does that story please you?”

Derek released a laughable scoff. “You’re not a wilting flower, I’ll give you that,” he stated.

“Your uncle said you’d like that about me,” Stiles remarked. “Given all of last week, I’d say you more than like that.” He turned back towards the vanity’s mirror, preparing to add a little red stain to his lips.

“You’re a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for,” Derek stated as he stood.

“I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not with you,” Stiles replied, pressing his index finger against his lip as he applied a muted tone of red stain to make his lips pop more. He side eyed Derek. “It’s a first for me.”

“Someone not pretending with me,” Derek echoed. “That’s a first for me.”

Stiles smiled as he finished, getting up from his spot as he moved towards his chest of clothing. “Would it be alright if I ask for a clothing rack?” He broached the subject as he frowned at his robes folded up to fit perfectly in the chest.

“A clothing rack?” Derek questioned, as if he never heard of one before.

Stiles blinked at Derek, pursing his lips some. “It’s a rack,” he gestures horizontally. “You hang clothes on it.”

Derek shrugged. “I’ll tell the chamberlain to get you one,” he offered.

Stiles shook his head. “You’re more used to a tent on the battlefield than a bedroom in the palace, aren’t you?”

“What gave that away?” Derek remarked as he busied himself with discarding his clothes.

Stiles smiled as he picked out one outfit. He moved to lay the outfit on the chair behind him, pleased with the light blue velvet decorating the robes in an elegant design. He was glad he picked his best clothes for traveling, knowing he’d have to look even more appealing to the Emperor’s court than the common ones. “You seem tense here,” he finally answered Derek’s question. He pulled at the ties of his robes, preparing to change.

Derek paused his actions, watching Stiles disrobe. He marveled at the paleness of Stiles’ skin, the smoothness of it being unmatched. The beauty marks were unseen on many of the court, more common amongst the lower class of citizens. Many tried to cover their beauty marks with various techniques, including layering powders.

Stiles was a rare exhibit of beauty beyond the court’s understanding, and that pleased Derek more than anything.

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, smiling when he saw that Derek was looking at his naked body. “Are you too distracted to retort?”

Derek looked up at Stiles, looking unhindered that he had been caught staring. “Perhaps I’m more interested in other things besides preparing for a banquet.”

Stiles hummed in agreement. “I suppose there is time,” he stated with interest. “As long as you don’t mess up my hair.”

~*~

They were late.

Though Peter didn’t seem to mind when he saw that Derek was walking into the great hall with Stiles beside him. He faintly smiled when a number of people paused to look at Stiles.

Stiles looked like a vision, truly haloed in the way he accompanied accessories with his robes, highlighting his natural beauty. He was an expert in the bowing and near prostrating that the court was accustomed to, though he looked practically regal in how at home he looked latched to Derek’s side.

Derek felt different about this banquet. It was a relief to have someone beside him who wasn’t trying to destroy him in front of the court. He enjoyed having Stiles pressed against his side, knowing that the others held intrigue and jealousy in their stares.

Stiles smiled sweetly at Derek whenever he spoke, acting as a mute bystander to whatever Derek was willing to say.  
Derek’s interest piqued when he saw the anger in Jennifer’s eyes.

Stiles was flawless with socializing, no matter who was speaking with him. He lingered by Derek’s side, leaning into him and caressing Derek’s arm whenever he made conversation.

That night, as Derek laid in bed, Stiles asleep next to him, it suddenly started to make sense.

Derek never had someone on his side when conversing with the court. Stiles was a comfort, something familiar that made Derek feel as if he hadn’t been isolated. He reluctantly gave in, placing his hand over Stiles’ hand resting on his stomach, turning his head to look at Stiles’ face resting against his chest.

Stiles’ face was upturned, as if he had forgotten to tell Derek something as sleep overtook him. The makeup around his eyes was smudge, Derek recalling Stiles’ complaint when he pulled him immediately towards the bed. He was drawing in small breaths through his mouth, lips open in a small oval shape. He looked content using Derek as a pillow.

Derek wanted to laugh at himself. He had become a cliche—the scarred soldier finding peace in the arms of a beautiful lover.

He was in trouble of giving everything to a courtesan, and he couldn’t find himself caring.

~*~

Peter gave Derek an expectant look when he took a seat at the table next to him that morning. He placed his goblet down, leaning back in his chair some as he examined Derek.

Derek looked at Peter. “What?” He gruffly demanded of his uncle.

“You left the banquet early,” Peter replied.

“I was tired,” Derek countered.

Peter hummed. “The guards said there was a lot of noise coming from your room. Must have been a sleepless night.” A sly smile pulled at his lips. “You’re welcome,” he stated. “I knew he would be a welcomed addition to this palace.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated instead of admitting that Peter had a point.

Peter laughed. “Yes, of course not,” he remarked. “I know how to pick them, though.”

“Are you finished gloating?” Derek tiredly asked, pointedly looking at Peter.

“Your thanks is payment enough,” Peter answered with a smile.

“I never said I’d thank you,” Derek countered as he grabbed his goblet from the table.

“Oh, Derek,” Peter started as he handed the report to one of his scribes. “I never wanted you to thank me. I only ever wanted you to stop walking around with a stick up your ass.”

Derek allowed a mocking gesture of humor to cross his features.

Peter snickered in response. “I enjoy your company more when you act like this,” he commented. “So, where is he?”

Derek set his goblet down. “Sleeping.”

Peter made the facial equivalent of amused understanding.

“Stop it,” Derek snapped at him.

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter replied. “I just meant to let you know he’s welcome to join us here in the future should you choose.”

Derek narrowed his gaze at Peter.

“Jennifer doesn’t come here, so it’s safe—plus it’s been how long? You’ve been home for a few fortnights now. I would like to get to know him more,” Peter added, as if he understood Derek’s restraints. He hesitated for a moment, before continuing in a soft and honest tone, “I want you happy, Derek. That’s all.”

Derek was surprised by Peter’s words. “You’re acting strange,” he stated. “Are you … sick?”

Peter laughed. “No, far from it.”

Derek seemed skeptical. “Then what?”

Peter shrugged. “We’re the only two left,” he offered. “And when I’m gone, I don’t want you alone.”

Derek stared at Peter. He hesitated, releasing a heavy breath. “Thank you, uncle,” he finally stated.

Peter faintly smiled just as another scribe brought more paperwork for him to look over. He waited for the scribe to leave before he spoke. “Be careful, though,” he warned Derek.

Derek looked at Peter. “I don’t think he’s going to try and kill me,” he offered. “He told me what he did to his last patron, and it sounded well deserved.”

“I don’t mean him,” Peter pressed. “Jennifer looked less than pleased last night,” he explained. “And if she displayed that displeasure so visibly last night … well, there is no telling how she’ll react should she discover how contented you really are.”

Derek released an annoyed breath. “Why grant me a lover to then warn me against it?”

Peter shook his head. “I play by the rules of the game, Derek,” he explained. “Doesn’t mean I agree with them. But Jennifer is your wife, and no matter how charming Stiles is it won’t stop the court from siding with her.”

Derek pointedly looked away from Peter. He knew his uncle was speaking the truth. “I don’t love her—I never did,” he stated.

“Never did, or never could?” Peter questioned.

Derek looked back at Peter.

“You’ve blamed yourself for the fire for a long time,” Peter offered as an explanation. “I picked Stiles because he is the exact opposite of the person Kate pretended to be.”

Derek visibly flinched at the mention of Kate.

“You were a boy,” Peter quickly added to try and counter whatever guilt Derek was throwing onto himself now. “You couldn’t know the cruelty she had planned.”

Derek shook his head. “I was an idiot,” he uttered. “Jennifer is at least more bold about what she’s attempting,” he offered as he looked at Peter. “She wants a baby to outmaneuver me. She probably wants you dead, too.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re never going to give her a baby,” Peter remarked. “Especially now.”

“It doesn’t make my marriage to her any easier,” Derek answered.

“You accepted a political match,” Peter countered. “You did me a favor, and I can’t help feeling you jumped into it out of guilt.”

It’s true—after the fire and Kate’s swift execution, they were vulnerable. Their army was still recovering, without a general. Derek had yet to assume a military role, and Peter was grieving those lost. They had little choice but to make allies, and with the Marquis’ citadel having just rebuilt—it was the best option.

How Derek wished he had resisted Peter’s request. He had a sneaking suspicion that Peter felt the same way now.

“It’s in the past,” Derek answered. “I wish there could be something done.”

Peter was watching Derek carefully, the silence drowning out all other playful banter.

“What?” Derek finally asked.

“You’re not … ” Peter shook his head. “Tell me you’re not infatuated to the point you’re convinced you want him in the marriage bed.”

“That’s not what I said,” Derek gruffly replied, hating how smug and incredulous his uncle sounded.

“You know that there is one way to end your marriage to Jennifer,” Peter cautioned.

Derek knew.

“And that would plunge us back into war,” Peter added.

“You sound as if you’ve considered this,” Derek replied, looking at his uncle.

“She’s been a snake in the grass for a while,” Peter remarked. “I’m not blind to what she’s been trying to do. She’s itching for me to croak. But I also know that if I behead her for petty reasons, the Marquis’ citadel is going to be on us in a second.”

Derek looked down at the table. “Stiles was there, you know.”

Peter looked at Derek, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“When the citadel fell,” Derek elaborated. “His father, too. He’s one of the only ones that escaped.”

Peter released a sharp sigh. “No wonder the boy has such a snark for punishments—he’s already lived through hell.”

~*~

Stiles found himself in the library, having wandered the halls in order to familiarize himself with the palace. He smiled as he examined the book titles, running his fingers over the spines as he noted which ones he hadn’t read yet. He paused when he looked up at the portrait above the fire. He stared at the woman, finding himself enjoying the playful smirk on her lips. He noted the gorgeous necklace that was resting against the dip of her collarbone, draped around her throat in a lavish manner. He couldn’t help but think she looked familiar, as if he had seen her features before. He took a step closer, examining the gold placard beneath the portrait’s edge.

_ Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess, Natalia Ekaterina Hale. _

Stiles looked up at the portrait before looking back at the placard. He noted the death year was over a decade ago, aligning with the fire that burned half the palace down. He wasn’t ignorant either, knowing that the woman was none other than Peter’s sister now that he knew the name. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots and realize that she was also Derek’s mother.

“Derek’s mother,” a feminine voice stated.

Stiles turned to look at the owner, his stomach dropping some when he realized it was Jennifer. He forced a smile, looking back at the portrait. “I can see the resemblance.”

Jennifer made a soft noise at the back of her throat, approaching Stile. “She was a bastard, not actually part of the court,” she explained.

Stiles clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, turning to look at Jennifer. He wondered if she was truly that much of an elitist, considering the woman she was speaking about was in fact her mother-in-law. “But Peter restored her to his succession, putting Derek in the direct line of inheritance,” he countered her. He was pleased when Jennifer had the audacity to look shocked. “I’m a courtesan, not illiterate,” he stated. “You, on the other hand, hold contempt for a woman who you owe your stature to.”

Jennifer glared at Stiles. “You’re a commoner,” she replied.

Stiles smiled at her. “I am,” he stated, unwilling to reveal for her that he technically held a lordship in the Marquis’ Citadel. “I’m also the crown prince’s lover. I think that’s rather esteemed for a commer.” He didn’t move when Jennifer drew closer. He was baiting her, wondering what she was capable of in the silence of the room they shared.

“I don’t care how often he fucks you,” Jennifer lowly started. “I don’t care if he keeps you in his bed for decades,” she continued. “But think you’ll give him a child, and I’ll have you strangled in your sleep before the bump even grows.”

Stiles looked Jennifer over, evaluating her threat.

Jennifer appeared pleased with Stiles’ silence, turning to leave.

“If Derek keeps me in his bed, how are you going to have me strangled?” Stiles questioned.

To say Jennifer surprised him would be an understatement.

Jennifer rounded on Stiles, swinging her hand at full force. She hit Stiles hard enough to make him lose balance.

Stiles stumbled, catching himself on the armchair beside him. He stabilized himself before pressing a hand to his face. He tasted blood in his mouth, where his teeth cut his cheek. His lip stung from where it split, scratches on his cheek from Jennifer’s nails.

“I’ll enjoy watching you fall,” Jennifer forcefully uttered before walking away.

Stiles ran his fingers over his cheek to check where her nails scratched him. He was happy to know she didn’t draw blood, hopeful that it wouldn’t scar. He had seen the mark she left on Derek’s face, wondering if Jennifer was annoyed to not leave a similar mark on him.

~*~

Stiles ignored the sharp sting of his split lip. He ignored the taste of blood—hard to imagine that once he was accustomed to it. His life even before Derek had been a pampered one, and now his nights were highlighted by Derek’s uncharacteristic gentleness towards him. He dusted the make up over his cheek, determined to hide the enflamed redness. He looked up at Derek through the mirror when the other man entered the room.

“I hope you weren’t looking forward to the party tonight,” Derek started as he closed the doors behind him. “Don’t feel like forcing a smile.”

Stiles flicked his tongue over the cut on his lip. “Might be a good idea,” he agreed with a soft tone. He turned to look at Derek.

Derek’s movements paused, his gaze zeroing in on Stiles’ lips. “What happened?”

Stiles made a small noise. “Jealous wife doesn’t like when the lover talks out of turn.”

Derek took a step towards Stiles. “Jennifer hit you,” he stated.

Stiles shrugged. “She made a barely veiled threat, I colorfully countered her claim. She took displeasure with it.”

Derek looked furious. “She came into this room and—”

“I was in the library,” Stiles answered. He waved a nonchalant hand. “She may be the worst spouse I’ve run into.”

Derek walked forward, reaching a hand out to take hold of Stiles’ chin. He lifted Stiles’ face upwards, examining the mark.

“Still attractive?” Stiles jested.

Derek lightly laughed. “Acceptable.”

Stiles slightly smiled at Derek. “What did you have in mind other than a party?”

~*~

Stiles looked around the stables, turning a skeptical eye towards Derek. “This wasn’t what I thought you had in mind,” he admitted as he spun in a circle. He smirked when he saw that the stable hand was staring at him. He arched his back, bending his neck just so in order to place it on display. He smiled to himself when he heard a bucket drop. He walked over to where Derek was attending a horse in one of the stable stall. He smiled when he saw Derek whispering gently to the animal.

This stall was larger than the others, providing the horse with more room to move around of her own free will. The horse was a large mare, larger than the other horses Stiles had seen. She was tall and broad shouldered, her mane a deep charcoal that complemented her blend of deep chestnut coat. She had a single white spot over her right eye, as if the common marker most horses had missed its location on her. Her eyes were a deep honeyed brown, and she turned her head to stare at Stiles when she noticed she wasn’t alone with Derek anymore.

Derek had said her name was Triskele.

“She’s beautiful,” Stiles commented.

Derek looked at Stiles, shaking his head some. “She has a mean streak to her,” he replied as he pet a hand through her mane, a gentle tapping against her neck when she started to whinny.

“She wants to run,” Stiles uttered when he saw her trot her hooves and shuffle her weight.

Derek looked at Stiles in intrigue.

Stiles smugly smirked. “I know horses,” he offered.

“Another talent,” Derek remarked.

“My father taught me,” Stiles softly offered. He wasn’t sure why he bothered telling Derek the truth. There were a number of more interesting things he could have said, but it felt wrong to steal that away from his father’s memory.

Derek nodded. “A smart man,” he replied.

“Foolishly loyal,” Stiles muttered to himself. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts as he stepped up to take his side next to Derek.

Triskele startled, shuffling backwards from Derek’s grip in order to get away from Stiles.

Stiles halted his movements immediately.

“Easy, girl, easy,” Derek calmly spoke as he reached a hand out to touch her once more. He gently hushed her as she pressed her face against his chest. “He’s friendly,” he stated.

“I didn’t think a war horse would be startled that easily,” Stiles replied.

“She was going to trample you,” Derek evenly replied, turning to look at Stiles. “For someone who knows horses, you didn’t see that?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. “She seemed content—I didn’t realize you babied your horse so she only likes you.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “She’s protective.”

Stiles hummed, turning to look around them. He left the stall for a moment, taking an apple from the satchel hanging on the side of the stable. He walked back into Triskele’s stall, pausing as he waited for the horse to see him.

Triskele lifted her head from Derek, her lips almost twitching to show her teeth when she caught scent of the apple.

Derek looked from Triskele to Stiles, unable to stop the smirk pulling at his lips when he saw the apple in Stiles’ hand. “Clever.”

Stiles smirked as he took a step closer to Triskele, keeping just out of her reach as he waited for her to take the next step.

Triskele took the final step, closing in next to Stiles. She took the apple, biting down and snatching it from Stiles’ hand as she chomped it up.

“I knew it,” Stiles uttered. “You spoil her with apples,” he triumphantly stated.

“When she’s good,” Derek replied.

Triskele moved closer to Stiles, sniffing the air near him. She started to press her nose up against him, huffing out when she got tangles in the billowing sleeves and drapes. She pressed in once more, searching for more fruit, knowing she could smell it on Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles chastised as he tried to turn around and get out of Triskele’s determined field. He stumbled some when Triskele nudged him. He fell sideways, colliding into Derek when he misjudged the distance to the stable’s side. “Your horse is a dog,” he commented, blushing some as he straightened up.

Stiles felt overwhelmed when he caught sight of Derek smiling—because of him. A knot tightened in his stomach, realization hitting him that he was starting to care a bit more than he was supposed to.

It was a given in Stiles’ profession that he would get attached to some patrons. He even favored some more than others. But he could never say he loved them. But at the end of the day, he was always their possession—and they always reminded him of that.

But Derek was fun. He was complicated, but easy to read when alone. He was blunt in his desires, and never pushed Stiles beyond their own shared ones. He was gentler than his exterior suggested, and Stiles found himself getting lost in that.

_ I haven’t seen him smile in a long time. I’m hoping you can fix that _ .

That was what Peter said to Stiles the night he was brought to the palace. And now Stiles was questioning at what cost was he to please Derek.

Stiles could handle the gentle touches and passionate kisses. He wasn’t so sure he was ready for the way his heart fluttered with Derek.

Sex was sex. This was more.

~*~

Peter turned abruptly when he heard the faint laughter coming from down the hall. He put his hand up to dismiss his page, moving to follow after the sounds. He stopped when he turned the corner, seeing Derek and Stiles together. He watched as Derek smiled at something Stiles whispered to him, nearly amazed at how easy it appeared for Derek. He felt something tighten in his chest when he tried to recall the last time he had seen Derek genuinely smile.

Everything Peter put Derek through suddenly started to twist, nearly shattering.

A political marriage. The wars. The prospects of ruling a torn empire.

Peter couldn’t stop the faint smile on his lips when he saw how relaxed and utterly adoring Derek seemed with Stiles.

“As romantic as I am,” Peter started, moving to walk down the hallway towards them. “I must be the bearer of sad news,” he stated with a small smirk when Derek glared at him.

Stiles ran his hand over Derek’s arm in a comforting manner before looking at Peter. “How sad?”

“The sad news that Derek has to spend a meeting with me,” Peter answered, looking at his nephew. “Apologies, but you snuck off before I could speak to you.”

“The exact reason I snuck off,” Derek replied, his arm lingering around Stiles.

“I’ll leave you to talk,” Stiles stated, a smile in his tone. He pressed a chaste kiss to Derek’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight,” he softly stated before bowing his head to Peter. He slipped from beneath Derek’s arm, heading back to their rooms.

Derek turned an annoyed look at Peter.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. He gestured for Derek to follow him. “I swear, it will be quick and painless.”

“It never is with you,” Derek huffed as he followed his uncle.

~*~

Derek stared at the papers before him. He kept his hands pressed against the table as he leaned his weight into it. He was hovering over the various drafts Peter had scattered across the table. “You’re serious,” he finally uttered, looking up at Peter.

Peter shrugged. “It makes sense to me,” he offered. “I inherited a war from my father,” he finally stated. “And to keep sanity, I pushed for expansion—despite my better judgment.”

Derek looked down at the papers. “You’re giving the provinces back.”

“I’m giving them back to the people,” Peter stated. He offered a weak smile to Derek when he looked at him. “I’m sorry to undo what you did for me.”

Derek stood up, turning to pace some. He kept his back to Peter. “Why send me into those battles if you were going to give it all back?”

Peter frowned. “Because the Argents can’t win,” he finally replied. He sighed, walking over to the table to pull more papers out of the pile. “You repelled them, every time. And now that they are weak, we can start giving back what we took.”

Derek looked at Peter. “You’ve been planning this for years, you said.”

Peter nodded. “Your mother was the first person I told,” he recalled. “She thought it was a good idea. That was really all the approval I needed.”

Derek kept quiet for a moment, digesting what Peter was saying. “We’ll have to set up systems to help them elect officials,” he finally stated.

Peter looked at Derek.

“I never agreed with the wars,” Derek offered. “I fought them because you needed me to.”

“I know,” Peter answered. “And I can’t forgive myself for using you that way.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair.

“To make this work, I need you to go to the provinces soon,” Peter explained, unwilling to linger on the subject any longer. “There have been several reports of unrest. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, or this could be ruined.”

Derek nodded.

“And with the Argents being nearly defeated,” Peter broached the subject again, taking steps towards Derek. “The arrangement we had with the Marquis is no longer necessary.”

Derek stared at Peter. “What are you … ” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t make promises,” Peter honestly stated. “If I annul your marriage, it could plunge us into war with the Marquis.”

Derek tried to keep control over the sudden rush of hope that overtook him.

“But it’s something to think of, once this is finalized,” Peter added. He clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder, a reassuring weight. He drew Derek into a hug, knowing what he was risking once more by sending him out of the palace.

Derek hugged Peter back, tightening his hold on him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I am loving all your comments, thank you! I also see the plot bunnies sprouting. I can neither confirm nor deny them ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Stiles was losing his balance, his knees straining under the pressure of keeping this position. He leaned forward to keep his balance, hands moving from Derek’s chest to the back of the reclining couch. Mindlessly nodding, Stiles couldn’t find his words as Derek’s sure hands on his hips kept their pace.

“I’m close,” Stiles panted against Derek’s lips.

Derek grunted, one hand moving to grip at the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s shoulders to steady himself when Derek stood up. He breathlessly yelped as he clung to Derek for support, his knee barely touching the couch anymore, his other leg uselessly dangling around Derek’s hip. He nodded to Derek in encouragement.

Derek used his strength to lift and move Stiles into a practiced rhythm.

Stiles cried out loudly when his orgasm crested. He shook against Derek, his limbs useless like a rag doll’s, pressing his face against Derek’s shoulder as he slowly came back down. He rubbed his hands over Derek’s shoulders, down his back when Derek stilled against him and shuddered through his own orgasm.

Derek swayed some, tightening his hold on Stiles to make sure he didn’t drop him.

Stiles kissed and nibbled at Derek’s ear as he lowered them back down to the couch. “That was new,” he tiredly stated as he draped himself across Derek, his leg hooked over Derek’s as he hugged Derek’s chest against his head.

“You’re scrawny enough that I can hold you up more often if you want,” Derek replied. He smiled when Stiles laughed against his chest.

“You’re supposed to be charming,” Stiles sarcastically replied.

“Overrated,” Derek answered, his breathing evening out now. He idly ran his fingertips up and down Stiles’ spine, caressing the small of Stiles’ back.

Stiles settled to place his hand over Derek’s side, aware of the burn marks covering the small of his back, traveling down to curl around his hip. He caressed his thumb along the edge of the scar. “Do these hurt still?” He softly asked.

Derek stared up at the ceiling, his words shrinking with each second. “A phantom memory,” he offered, knowing his voice was weaker than he wanted.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “They’re from the Argents, aren’t they?”

Derek didn’t look at Stiles. He was looking at the intricate design of the ceiling, remembering how the architect tried to caution Peter against continuing with such lavish comforts. He had watched the architect cower when Peter yelled at him—Talia had overseen the decorations of the palace, and it was to be restored to that vision, regardless the cost.

“I shouldn’t have pressed,” Stiles suddenly stated, noticing Derek’s silence was the exact response he expected while speaking about a traumatic event.

“I had sisters,” Derek stated, closing his eyes. “Cora was nine,” he forcefully stated. “She was with my mother when the fire broke out.”

Stiles lifted his body up some, looking down at Derek.

“Initially I realized I was the only one of my family that made it out,” Derek stated, finally looking at Stiles. “I went back in,” he shook his head, remembering the heat of the flames, the screaming. And laughter—he’d never forget Kate’s laughter. “I almost got to them,” he confessed. “A cave-in of the hallways made it next to impossible to get out.” He drew in a breath, clearing his throat some as he looked away from Stiles. “A beam snapped and pinned me to the ground … Next thing I knew, Peter was dragging me out.”

Stiles frowned some. “You were … fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Derek corrected him, as if it made it anymore acceptable.

“You were a boy,” Stiles stated.

Derek looked at Stiles. “I was—”

“You were a child,” Stiles forcefully stated. “And if I know anything, I know the Argents are cruel and would do anything to get ahead.” He leaned over Derek, draping his body over Derek’s chest. “Peter was kind when he cut Katherine Argent’s head off,” he darkly stated, a seriousness in his features. “And you were brave to go back in,” he added, a softness in his voice. “I wish I had been able to do that. I don’t even know what happened to my father.”

“You were a child, Stiles,” Derek echoed Stiles’ earlier words.

“And it took me a long time to accept that,” Stiles replied. He leaned down to press a kiss against Derek’s lips. “I want you to know that for yourself,” he calmly stated, moving his hand to graze over the burn marks. “And to know that you don’t have to feel ashamed.”

Derek pulled Stiles into another kiss, drawing him in close.

~*~

It had been good—better than Derek thought they’d be together. But things were coming to a head now. “I have to leave in a fortnight,” he finally stated.

Stiles lifted his head from Derek’s chest, looking up at him. “Where are we going?” He smiled when Derek looked down at him.

Derek snorted out a laugh, reaching his free arm up to pillow beneath his head. His other hand remained on the small of Stiles’ back. “I have to go to the barracks,” he answered. “There have been reports of small uprisings along the provinces.”

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows at Derek. “Why not send someone else?”

Derek gently shrugged, purposeful not to toss Stiles off his perch. “I finalized the treaties,” he offered. “I also don’t trust someone else to handle this.”

“Afraid they’ll mess up?” Stiles teased. His playful smile faltered when he noticed that Derek didn’t smile.

“They’ll try to take the land and displace the natives,” Derek solemnly replied. “Peter agreed with me that if we expand the borders, we remain a sovereign presence.”

“Others would have just taken the land by force and left those living there to die,” Stiles finished.

“I agreed I’d go when Peter told me,” Derek answered.

Stiles pursed his lips some. “Well, I’m going to be lonely,” he purposefully pouted when Derek looked at him.

“You’ll have plenty of time to read,” Derek offered.

“Yes, a boring book is so much better than your cock,” Stiles laughed.

“I’m glad to know that’s what you’ll miss of me,” Derek dryly replied.

“As you should know,” Stiles smiled and laughed when Derek turned them. He squirmed his best when Derek mercilessly tickled him.

Stiles looked up at Derek as they settled, smiling up at him. His breath caught with how Derek was looking at him, knowing there was something peculiarly different than normal. He was about to speak when the door was pushed open. He didn’t startle, knowing that he was mostly covered by Derek regardless of their current position.

“Can’t you knock?” Derek tiredly demanded as he turned to look at the person. He had fully expected Jennifer or an unknown guard doing her bidding. He was shocked to see that it was Boyd.

Boyd turned his head away from them, giving them a semblance of privacy. “Apologies, but I thought you should be informed immediately of what is happening in the stables.”

Stiles grabbed his robe from off the floor, pulling it over himself as Derek rose to grab his trousers.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked as he pulled his trousers on. He slowed tying them when he saw how serious Boyd was.

“The stable boy reported that Triskele is laying on the ground of her stall—she’s near unresponsive,” Boyd offered.

Derek’s expression fell, his gaze dropping from Boyd.

“They’ve called the local master of horses, he’s on his way,” Boyd continued. “I knew you’d want to know though.”

Stiles looked at Derek, haphazardly tying his robe together around his waist as he stood up. He touched Derek’s arm. “Do they know what happened?” He asked Boyd when Derek didn’t react.

“No,” Boyd answered. “Only that she was fine last night. When he went to bring her a change in oats, she was on the ground.”

“Bitch,” Derek cursed, yanking his arm out of Stiles’ hold as he grabbed his discarded shirt. He hurried out of the room without another word.

Stiles looked at Boyd.

Boyd sighed, looking at Stiles.

“Would she?” Stiles softly asked, knowing that there were petty things jealous spouses would do—but to poison a horse was rather low on the bar.

“Triskele is very important to Derek,” Boyd offered with a small shrug. “When things become important to him … well, Jennifer knows she can take them away.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Would you mind giving me a moment to change, and then bringing me down to the stables?”

Boyd seemed surprised.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Stiles added, gesturing to his current state. “I’d rather not have my robes slip open while I’m trying to care for a horse.”

Boyd faintly chuckled at that, nodding his head. “I’ll be outside.”

Stiles hastily started to dress the moment Boyd shut the doors.

~*~

Derek threw open the doors to Jennifer’s bedroom, uncaring when the handmaidens startled. He noticed how calm Jennifer looked as she continued to sit at her vanity, only giving Derek a passing look.

“Get out,” Derek lowly commanded the other women, gesturing towards the open door. “Now!” He yelled when none of them moved. He was pleased when they started to scramble as fast as possible, rushing for the door before he closed it behind him.

“What now?” Jennifer asked, her tone annoyed.

“I know it was you,” Derek growled out.

Jennifer turned around to look at Derek, expression unfazed. “What was me?”

“You’re a vile, jealous bitch,” Derek stated. “I know you poisoned Triskele.”

Jennifer didn’t react to the accusation. “I haven’t been near the stables, let alone your fleabag of a horse.”

Jennifer never liked Triskele, not since she first met her and Triskele decided to yank a clump of the woman’s hair out.

The horse was just a good judge of character.

“Have you asked your whore?” Jennifer pressed. “He was the last one near her, wasn’t he? It’s common for his kind to have poisons on them—helps them get rid of unwanted babies, I hear. I wonder what the court will think when they hear that your horse died from the same poison those sluts use.”

Derek strode up to Jennifer, grabbing her by the arms and lifting her from her resting spot.

Jennifer struggled some. “Get your hands off me!”

“If she dies, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Jennifer goaded him. “You’ll show the world the monster you are?” She practically spat at him.

Derek leaned closer to her. “Harm something of mine again, and the world won’t have to guess how terrible the Hale temper can be,” he practically growled. “I’ll ship your head back to the Marquis myself,” he threatened at the level of a whisper. He shoved her back, uncaring when she collided with her own vanity. He turned to leave, barely fazed when one of her make-up tins hit him in the shoulder, Jennifer throwing more when he didn’t look back at her.

~*~

Stiles ran a hand over Triskele’s stomach, applying pressure in different places. He ceased when she made a deep whining sound. He looked around the stall seeing that it was rather clean. “When was the last time you cleaned?” He asked the stable boy. He turned to look at the young man when he didn’t answer him.

Boyd was standing behind the young stablehand, gently nudging him when he didn’t answer Stiles.

“Y-yesterday morning,” the stable boy stumbled through his answer.

“You’re not going to get in trouble,” Stiles tried to calm the boy.

“His Highness will gut me if she dies,” the stable boy almost sobbed.

“Did you mistreat her on purpose?” Stiles questioned as he shook his head. “Derek won’t hurt you,” he reassuringly stated, moving to stand and inspect a corner of the stall. He found some of Triskele’s droppings, picking one up and examining it. He blanched at the smell, picking out one of the seeds that he saw. He inspected it closer before mumbling a curse. “This is nightshade,” he turned to look at Boyd. He was surprised to find Derek standing there.

“What are you doing?” Derek questioned as he moved to kneel next to Triskele. He ran a calming hand down her neck, leaning close to her ear to whisper calming words.

“Playing with horseshit,” Stiles dryly countered. He looked to the stable boy. “Is there anything nightshade related that could get into her feed?”

The stablehand shook his head. “No—no of course not.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “We need to get it out of her,” he stated. “She ate this sometime yesterday,” he held out the nightshade seed for Derek to observe.

Derek looked at Boyd. “Go to the herbalist—ask her what will make a horse vomit.”

“Horses can’t vomit,” Stiles quickly stated. He arched his eyebrows at Derek when the other man looked at him. “I told you, my father taught me,” he stated. He looked back at Boyd. “We need a laxative.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought. “It’s going to be a long, shit-filled night.”

Derek remained kneeling next to Triskele. “You don’t have to stay,” he offered to Stiles.

“I don’t mind,” Stiles replied. He waited a few minutes, until the silence became too much. “Where did you go?”

Derek looked at Stiles. “To confront Jennifer.”

“And how did that go?” Stiles asked as he relaxed against the stall wall.

Derek scoffed in exasperation. “As well as anyone would expect.”

Stiles frowned some. “I’m sorry.”

“She tried to convince me you did it,” Derek stated, holding Stiles’ gaze. “That you used a poison, one for getting rid of babies.”

Stiles’ features tightened. “It’s a tea, actually,” he slowly answered. He shook his head when Derek looked at him, looking away when he added, “And I wouldn’t subject a horse to its pain.”

Boyd returned before Derek could ask Stiles what he meant.

~*~

Stiles stayed with Derek, well after Triskele’s stomach must have been fully purged. He fell asleep beside Derek in the newly cleaned stable they managed to move Triskele into once she had the energy to move some. He was resting with his head against Derek’s shoulder, slipping in and out of sleep as the moon hung high, the stables lit by the burning torches lining the walls.

“You can go back inside,” Derek offered, somewhat amused when Stiles startled at his words.

Stiles grumpily looked at Derek before hugging onto his arm, nuzzling his face even harder into Derek’s shoulder. “I was comfy until you spoke.”

“My mistake,” Derek replied.

“Your wife truly is evil for robbing us of time before you leave,” Stiles yawned.

Derek’s face was pinched, disliking the sound of those words coming from Stiles. "Don't call her that."

"Isn't that what she is?" Stiles asked as he looked up at Derek.

"Unfortunately."

"What's wrong?" Stiles finally asked as he pulled away from Derek to look at his face. “I performed a miracle and saved your horse from a horrid plan,” he began. “And once we are out of the stables, bathed, I will perform another amazing defeat by sleeping for a whole day.”

Derek faintly smiled at Stiles. "She's trying to outmaneuver me," he finally confessed, knowing Stiles wouldn’t stop.

"You're the emperor's nephew—his only living heir," Stiles stated. "How could she outmaneuver you?"

"If she was pregnant with my child, she would have a claim to the throne through that child," Derek explained. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling of the stables. "She wants it bad enough that she's ready to kill everything I hold dear to make me cave to her will."

"Couldn't you ... void your marriage?" Stiles questioned.

Derek scoffed. "To void our marriage, I would have to kill her. Or cause irreversible damage to her name."

"Or Peter could do it," Stiles offered.

"I'm glad you aren't repulsed by social suicide, or murder," Derek answered.

"I've seen worse," Stiles replied, a small force tugging at the knot in his stomach. It wasn't a lie—he had seen worse, but he didn't like admitting it to Derek. He didn't like Derek knowing he was experienced in those ways. He moved to hug Derek's chest, pretending not to feel the shame twisting in his own chest as he rested his head against Derek’s shoulder.

“Stiles,” Derek softly uttered his name.

Stiles hummed.

“Earlier, you mentioned a tea,” Derek started.

Stiles felt as if bile was going to start rising from his stomach. “Yes,” he answered.

“You said you wouldn’t wish the pain on a horse,” Derek elaborated.

Stiles pulled back from Derek, looking at him. “It feels like a thousand knives are slicing at your insides. If you can stand the pain for the hours it lasts, you start the next day expected to act as if you’re not missing a piece.”

Derek’s brow furrowed.

“I’m a courtesan,” Stiles plainly stated. “I don’t get to keep my babies when my patrons don’t want them.”

Derek’s expression softened some. “I’m sorry.” he started.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t want your pity, Derek.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Derek countered. “You told me what happened with your last patron,” he offered, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder. “I shouldn’t have asked you to explain.”

Stiles looked Derek in the eye. “I would never force that on anyone—not even an animal.”

Derek nodded. “I believe you.”

~*~

"I don't see why you have to be clean-shaven," Stiles argued again, grumpily wiping the razor on the bowl next to the tub.

"Because I have to be civilized," Derek sighed in response, leaning his head back on the rim of the tub to give Stiles better access to his throat. He briefly thought of how he never trusted Jennifer enough to expose his throat to her. He enjoyed having Stiles straddle him as they shared the warm water of the tub, finding a calm in the way Stiles easily shaved away the remains of his beard.

"My thighs don't appreciate you looking civilized," Stiles grumbled as he ran the blade along Derek's Adam's apple.

"It will grow back by the time I return," Derek answered with a slight laugh. "You don't hear me complaining about you shaving your legs."

Stiles’ mouth fell open in shock. "My legs are the smoothest things you've ever had wrapped around your waist," he countered with a critical look. "And your head," he added.

Derek smiled, not even wincing when the razor sliced through the skin running along his jaw.

“You made me knick you,” Stiles partially scowled, using the warm damp cloth to dab at the cut as he inspected it for signs of bleeding.

Derek gently squeezed at Stiles’ hips, pleased when Stiles tightened his thighs around his hips in reply.

“Hold still,” Stiles replied, placing a delicate kiss on the small knick. “Or I’ll be escorting a corpse to the banquet tonight,” he noted.

“Please do,” Derek retorted.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. “I don’t like when you talk like that.”

Derek waited until Stiles pulled the razor away, pulling him in closer. He placed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, lazily leaning his head back when Stiles pressed into him.

Stiles opened his mouth to Derek’s kisses, arm wrapping around Derek’s neck as he settled against him. “If you don’t stop, I’m not going to finish, and then we’ll be late,” he falsely chastised Derek as he pulled away.

“My devious plan,” Derek answered.

When Stiles finished shaving Derek’s beard, he lingered for a moment to kiss Derek some more. He reluctantly pulled away to begin preparing for the party. He had hours, but he wanted to look his best, knowing it was his last chance to upstage Jennifer. His time would be lonely and boring once Derek left for the provinces.

Stiles dried himself off as he inspected the clothing rack Derek had brought in after he asked. He eyed the outfit on the back of the rack, knowing it was his most expensive and envious robes. He figured it was a good time to use it.

Derek was resigned in his movements, wanting to avoid the party by slowly getting ready. In truth, he wanted to delay his departure from the palace. He wanted to stay—he wanted Stiles to come with him. But the front was no place for a courtesan, as Peter had informed him. Twice.

Stiles smiled at himself as he looked down at his robes now that they were fitted into place. He was confident he would outshine Jennifer in these.

Derek’s eyes looked over to Stiles as he rose from the bathtub, watching Stiles carefully as he dressed, wrapping a linen cloth around his own hips. He hadn’t seen those robes before, but he knew enough about Jennifer’s extravagant tastes to know it would have cost a small fortune to have commissioned.

Stiles caught Derek looking, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Where did you get  _ that  _ one,” Derek tried to ask in a nonchalant way.

Stiles smiled, hearing the jealousy in Derek’s voice. “A maharaja gave it to me,” he simply stated.

“Hm,” Derek somewhat scoffed, keeping his eyes elsewhere as Stiles finished tying the sash around his waist.

“Are you jealous?” Stiles finally asked as he turned to face Derek. “Because I distinctly heard a hint of jealousy in that scoff.”

“I’m not jealous of a handful of material,” Derek deadpanned.

“It’s Belvarian silk,” Stiles countered, allowing himself to flop down onto the bed. He leaned back onto his hands as he rubbed his calves together, allowing the material to smoothly slip across his skin before parting, revealing his thighs. “You don’t like how I look in it?”

“Are you baiting me?” Derek asked as he turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles parted his mouth in a small oval shape, pretending to feign innocence. “Your Highness, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He not so subtly spread his legs wide enough apart for a pair of hips to fit there, leaning his head back in invitation to Derek.

~*~

Derek wasn’t sure how he did it, but he had somehow managed to rip the silk down the back. He imagined it had to do with his arm slipping beneath the material, bracing Stiles’ back as he lifted him. Part of him felt smug when he had heard it rip, knowing that Stiles wouldn’t be able to wear it. He hadn’t expected the worried jerk of Stiles’ body following the noise.

Stiles reached around himself, frantic to find where the robes had torn. He prayed it was only the seams straining. His stomach plummeted when he felt the large hole running from the small of his back all the way up to his neck. He clambered off Derek, untying the robes in a hurry to inspect the cloth—he tried to convince himself that maybe it felt worse than it was.

It was worse than it felt.

Derek reached for Stiles, attempting to pull him back.

"Derek, this isn't funny," Stiles argued when Derek partially laughed when he stood out of his reach to take the robes off completely. He looked back at Derek who was still sprawled on the bed. "Do you have any idea how expensive this is?" He released an annoyed groan as he held up the ripped fabric. " _ Was _ ."

"I'll buy you another one," Derek countered.

"I really liked this one," Stiles whined. "And you ripped it in two!"

"I'll buy you a better one," Derek answered as he stood, taking a step closer to Stiles.

"I can't believe you are jealous of some no name maharaja, that you ripped one of my favorite outfits in two," Stiles countered.

"I don't like hearing about some maharaja," Derek stated with minor annoyance in his tone as he pulled his trousers on.

"Derek, I can't even remember his name—that's how unimportant he is," Stiles answered. "What am I supposed to wear now? I don't have anything that's going to be better than Jennifer's now." His skin heated up, embarrassment flaring when he realized he stated his concerns out loud for Derek to hear.

Derek paused getting ready, moving his head to look at Stiles’ profile.

Stiles turned his head away from Derek, trying to hide.

“You could wear a burlap sack and surpass Jennifer in beauty,” Derek stated, trying to get Stiles to look at him.

Stiles scoffed, tossing the ruined robes to the ground. “You say that because you know her to be evil incarnate,” he argued. “She’s a very beautiful woman.” His voice was melancholy as he looked at his own few clothes hanging from the rack. “She walks into a room, and people look at her for her poise and elegance. People look at me because they want to envision fucking me.”

Stiles was surprised when Derek grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at him as Derek pressed a kiss to his lips. It was a slow but hungry kiss—one of urgency and need to prove something Stiles never felt before. Stiles couldn’t help but lean in, chasing after Derek’s parting lips.

“Don’t ever talk about yourself that way,” Derek stated against Stiles’ lips, his voice hard and firm—the voice of a royal not wanting to hear something they didn’t like.

“It’s the truth,” Stiles bitterly stated as he pushed away from Derek. He tried to preoccupy himself with the makeup on the vanity, wondering what he’d do different to offset his repeat in clothing. He had been with Derek for a near year now, and he had no new clothes, no physical gifts to show for it. He was proving to be a visual failure of a courtesan. He knew Derek didn’t give gifts in general, and that hadn’t bothered him. Until the last party, when Jennifer took one look at his robes and slyly smirked—he had worn them already to one of the last parties.

Stiles startled when the doors suddenly shut with a loud knocking sound. He turned to see them move some, looking at the vacant spot Derek had been. He frowned when he realized the ruined robes were gone. He was left to assume Derek went to burn them.

~*~

“You never come here,” Lydia replied with a tired sigh. “Why are you here?”

Being the royal advisor to the emperor afforded Lydia a number of luxuries. One of them being her ability to make miracles happen. She was a skilled alchemist and well read scholar, but she knew better than anyone the rules of the game. She rarely went to parties, making select appearances when Peter requested her. Most times she would be in her laboratories in the tower. She was the only person to push limits with Peter, and it showed how dismissive she could be with anyone who dared to wander into her domain.

Lydia had started to become close friends with Stiles when the young man began wandering the palace halls and ended up in her hanging gardens. She enjoyed Stiles’ company and his quick wit. She was pleased when he helped her perfect more than one of her formulas.

And now, Derek had come to her for help.

Derek squared her with a look, offering up the torn robes bunched in his hands.

Lydia arched an eyebrow. “I’m not the seamstress,” she countered.

“Do you know someone who can fix this?”

Lydia clicked her tongue. “What did you do?” She questioned as she took hold of the robes. She held them out as she inspected the torn part. “This is Belvarian silk,” she plainly stated.

“So I’ve been told,” Derek grumpily uttered.

“You can’t repair Belvarian silk,” Lydia replied. “The thread won’t hold, and the material will snag and fray.”

Derek’s expression grew more sullen and annoyed. “What happens then if it tears and you need it repaired?”

Lydia balked at Derek. “You don’t repair it, you refashion it as something different. Buy another.”

Derek slammed his hands on the table. He drew in a breath when Lydia glared at him.

“Don’t be pissed because you messed up,” Lydia replied. She sighed as she set the clothing down. “This is Stiles’, isn’t it?”

Derek reluctantly nodded in silence.

“And you tore it in half,” Lydia added.

Derek nodded again.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this was?” Lydia incredulously asked.

“I’m getting an idea,” Derek snapped. “Do you have a tailor who can make something better than that?” He pressed.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “I mean, there is the palace’s tailor,” she offered. “But he’s a favorite of Jennifer’s—he’s not going to make something for the person she hates most.”

“I fucked up,” Derek angrily stated, finally looking at Lydia. “Help me fix it before tonight.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “I’ll help you—because I like Stiles.”

~*~

Stiles pulled on the material over his stomach. He ran his hands over it to flatten it out. He frowned, knowing that it wasn’t his best fitting robes. He had lost more than half his wardrobe after he was placed on probation for injuring his last client. He had been surprised Harris let him keep the ones he had. He thanked his lucky stars that Heather saved the one from the maharaja.

Stiles sighed, dropping his hands to his side as he moved to sit on the bed. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t get the nagging out of his head—if he couldn’t surpass Jennifer in social standing, he had to in appearance. It was the only way he’d keep sane in the following months.

Stiles looked up at the sound of the door opening. He was surprised to see that Derek was fully clothed in appropriate attire, noting that he hadn’t seen those particular clothes before. He frowned when Derek didn’t look at him. He stood from his perch on the bed, walking towards Derek. He stood on his tiptoes to see over Derek’s shoulder, looking at the package Derek sat down on his vanity.

Derek drew in a breath, turning to look at Stiles. He almost startled when he realized Stiles had drawn closer in silence.

Stiles looked at Derek. “I wanted to apologize—”

“Stop,” Derek uttered.

Stiles felt an icy chill creeping up his spine. He was panicking when he started, “I was wrong—”

“Stiles, stop,” Derek softly stated, taking hold of Stiles’ shoulders. “ _ I _ was wrong,” he firmly uttered. “I was … jealous,” he reluctantly stated.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, not very surprised when Derek put his hand over his mouth.

“You can yell at me later, but please let me finish,” Derek stated. He waited for Stiles to nod before he removed his hand. “I was jealous that you still had a gift from some other man. One that was probably better at telling you his honest feelings. I haven’t even given you a gift, that’s how inept I am at this,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I thought if I didn’t give you a gift, it meant more—that you weren’t here because you were bought.”

“I can leave whenever I want,” Stiles corrected Derek.

Derek looked surprised.

Stiles shook his head. “Peter gave me that reassurance. When I want to leave, I can leave,” he stated. He reached a hand to guide Derek’s face back towards him. “I want you to know that, so that you know I’m choosing to stay.” He drew in a deep breath. “But what you did— that wasn’t kind.”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t … I didn’t mean to rip it,” he admitted. “Was I mad I did? No.”

Stiles narrowed his gaze at Derek. “Don’t do it again,” he sternly uttered. “I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Derek stated in reassurance. “I can’t stop myself from being jealous, though.”

Stiles shook his head. “You have nothing to be jealous of.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Derek’s chest. He groaned under his breath. “The more I’m with you, the more certain I am that I never want to go back to how things were.” He closed his eyes tightly when Derek lifted his head, forcing him to turn his face upwards.

“Stiles,” Derek started.

“No,” Stiles softly stated before he forced himself to open his eyes. He ignored the tears that were building in the corners of his eyes. “I’m not good at vulnerable,” he stated. “I’m not good at letting anyone see this part of me.”

Derek softly smiled. “Neither am I.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “If you don’t throw me away … I’m not leaving.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Thank the gods,” Stiles breathily spoke as he kissed Derek. He softly laughed when Derek drew him into a tight hug.

“I have something for you,” Derek spoke against Stiles’ shoulder.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Derek stated as he let go of Stiles. He gestured towards the small package on the vanity. “Lydia said it should fit,” he stated.

Stiles looked at Derek in question before picking up the package. He pulled back the wrappings to reveal a plethora of rich fabric and sheer design. He marveled at the silver moons and stars embroidered into the sheer fabric. “Derek, is this … ” He turned to look at him in shock. “Is this Milanian cotton?”

Derek sighed. “Stiles, I have no idea what that means—”

Stiles pulled Derek into a kiss.

Derek was a little surprised, looking down at the fabric when Stiles pulled back. “I’m guessing that’s good.”

“It’s better than any Belvarian silk,” Stiles laughed. “It’s impossible to get this from importers.”

Derek shrugged. “Lydia has her ways.”

Stiles smiled as he unraveled the fabric, looking at the robes. He walked off to the side, giving himself some space to change. He put his discarded robes back onto the clothing rack, slipping into the new ones with ease. His hands made easy work of the ties and sashes. He could tell it fit in all the right places, smiling to himself as he turned to look at Derek.

Derek was unlocking a drawer by one of the various chests near the bed.

“What are you doing?” Stiles softly questioned.

“That’s not really a gift from me—more Lydia’s doing,” Derek replied, turning to abandon the drawer, carrying a small sack in his hands.

The sack was a blue velvet, small ties at the top keeping it from unveiling its contents.

Stiles knew what was held in velvet sacks like that—jewels.

“I wanted to give you this earlier, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it,” Derek explained as he pulled the ties from the top.

“Derek, this is enough, you don’t have to—” Stiles started to argue.

Derek displayed the necklace for Stiles to see.

Stiles recognized it—it was the necklace Talia was wearing in her portrait.

“They only found a few things after the fire,” Derek explained. “My father gave this to my mother when they married—he wasn’t a nobleman, but a general in the army. He didn’t know anything about jewelry. He asked Peter for help, actually,” he softly chuckled. “I’m surprised my mother didn’t end up with a necklace made of solid diamonds.”

Stiles looked at Derek for a brief moment before looking back down at the necklace. “It’s beautiful—simple but elegant. You can see the love in its craftsmanship.”

The necklace was anything but aesthetically simple. Blackened silver made intricate designs, folding into a trefoil of triskelions. There were gold orbs at the edges of the trefoils’ curves. In the center, there was a yellow diamond, surrounded by the reddest rubies—a sun surrounded by drops of blood.

“Take a seat,” Derek instructed Stiles towards the vanity.

Stiles took a seat. He looked at Derek through the mirror, watching as he let Derek place the necklace on him.

“Something Jennifer will never have,” Derek commented as he fastened the clasp around Stiles' neck.

Stiles stared at the pendant in the mirror, his fingertips moving to trace the intricate design. He bit his bottom lip before turning to look at Derek.

“Derek, I can't wear this. It's too nice for me,” Stiles quickly stated, his hands moving to reach for the clasp.

Derek silenced Stiles’ protest with a kiss, his hands reaching to grab Stiles’ in order to stop him from removing the necklace. “I want you wearing it. I want you to have it while I’m gone.”

“I’m sure Jennifer will love that,” Stiles replied.

“She’s stolen from me before,” Derek replied. “I had to tear it from her neck and hide it away. I’m sure you’ll keep it safe, though.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! I loved all your comments. Here is another chapter, because I was awful and forgot to give you one yesterday ... 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and things are heating up my dears <3

Derek was beyond exhausted. He would go weeks without being able to sit and write Stiles. Sometimes his letters would be short and simple, enough to let Stiles know he lived. The skirmishes would be over soon enough.

Stiles’ letters were long, bringing Derek a smile whenever he would read them by the candlelight. His prose almost suggested that he knew what type of conditions Derek was facing, if only to cheer him up despite it.

_ I look forward to your return. It’s very boring without you. _

_ Return to me _ — _ please come home soon. _

~*~

Stiles was frantically going through the various drawers of his vanity, haphazardly pulling things out and dropping them onto the surface. He turned his attention to the cushions of the various furnishings, pushing his hands into the crevices, knowing he wouldn’t find what he was looking for. He knew he placed the necklace on the vanity, wrapping it around the vase of his perfumed powder, so its location was obvious when he wasn’t wearing it.

Stiles threw the pillows away from the reclining couch, releasing an aggravated breath as he plopped down to sit. “Where is it!”

A knock on the doors startled Stiles to look up.

Stiles had no visitors during Derek’s absence. He didn’t mind it, finding himself invited to the parties by Peter, and even hiding himself during the days in the hanging gardens as he continued to care for the various plants. He spent his nights writing to Derek, wondering what he could put in his letters to give Derek ease of conscience.

Boyd was standing in the doorway, arching his eyebrows at Stiles after seeing the disarray of the pillows. “Are you alright?”

Stiles’ brow furrowed, unsure if he should admit his dilemma. “The necklace Derek gave me … ” He bit his lip, unwishing to admit that it was lost.

Boyd took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. “His mother’s necklace,” he knowingly stated.

Stiles nodded. “It’s gone,” he admitted in defeat. “I placed it right there,” he explained as he pointed to the vanity. “As I always do, and now it’s gone. I can’t find it, and it’s going to drive me insane.”

Boyd looked at the vanity, his mouth downturned as he thought about it. “I’ll keep my eye out for it,” he offered before turning towards the doors.

Stiles seemed surprised by Boyd’s sudden departure. He worried that Boyd might think he pawned it.

~*~

Stiles tried to preoccupy himself with mundane things as he continued to panic about the necklace. He spent his time in the hanging gardens, frequenting the library to retrieve books before hiding away where he knew Jennifer wouldn't follow. He knew he was safe in Lydia's beloved gardens.

He was transferring the mandrake root to a different soil when Boyd came in. He arched his eyebrow at him, unsure why one of the royal guards would browse the hanging gardens. He pulled his hands away from the mandrake root when Boyd came closer. He always felt comfortable around Boyd—safe. Perhaps it was because Derek trusted Boyd more than anyone. And if Derek trusted Boyd, he must be a good person.

Stiles just wasn’t sure where Boyd settled on the opinion of a courtesan.

Boyd held out a small, folded piece of parchment. “I asked some people,” he offered.

Stiles looked confused, taking the parchment from Boyd. He unfolded it to read the words scrawled out on it. He was surprised to see instead the detailed sketching of the necklace.

“It was in possession of Jennifer’s handmaiden,” Boyd explained. “I’m guessing she was instructed to take it when you were out of your rooms.”

“They’re supposed to be locked,” Stiles reasoned.

“Servants have their ways,” Boyd countered.

Stiles glared down at the drawing. “Does she have it?”

Boyd frowned some. “I’m not sure. She won’t risk wearing it while Peter is around.”

Stiles remembered the way Peter looked perplexed by the necklace being on his neck, only to then fondly smile. It was heartwarming, the smile Peter gave him.

Stiles knew Peter would be angry if he knew Jennifer took the necklace. “And with Peter having just left this morning,” he started as he looked at Boyd.

“She most certainly will wear it tonight,” Boyd concluded.

Stiles nodded. “Thank you, Boyd.”

~*~

Stiles wore the robes Derek had given him, using them as the armor he needed as he marched into the great hall. He wasn’t technically invited to the banquet in Peter’s absence, but only Peter could punish him for such a faux pas. He used it to his advantage. He remembered the way Jennifer seethed with anger the first time he entered the banquet hall with the necklace. He was determined to put an end to her games.

Countless courtiers in attendance turned to look at Stiles, their eyes widening in amazement that he was present. They started to whisper when he headed right for Jennifer.

Anger gripped Stiles’ stomach when he saw the necklace resting against the dip of her collarbone. He had a thousand furious words to spit at her, wishing he could make the scene he was entitled to. Instead, he put his hand out expectantly.

Jennifer looked at Stiles’ hand before looking him in the eye.

“Give me back my property,” Stiles evenly stated, unsurprised when the noise level dropped. Everyone was waiting in bated silence to hear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jennifer answered.

“You do,” Stiles sharply countered. “I would like my necklace back,” he announced. “Everyone here knows his Royal Highness gave me that.” He scoffed when she didn’t make a move to answer his accusation. “You're a thief. And even though I am a courtesan, as you like to remind me, I have my rights. And that necklace is  _ mine _ .”

“This necklace belonged to the Emperor’s beloved sister,” Jennifer simply stated. “An imperial jewel doesn’t belong to a whore.”

Stiles’ expression didn’t waver as he took a step towards Jennifer. “You can't win your husband's love, so you have to sneak into his rooms in the middle of the night and steal his gift to his courtesan,” he hissed, not caring who heard.

Stiles angrily furrowed his gaze on her when she didn't dare to move. He pointed at the necklace wrapped around Jennifer's neck. “You stole it once, only to have Derek rip it from your neck. Don't make me rip it from your neck, too.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes on Stiles, her expression turned murderous for a quick moment. She was about to say something when she saw Boyd and Isaac moving to stand beside Stiles. She didn’t need to look at the others to know she had been defeated.

Jennifer undid the necklace’s clasp with one hand, grasping the pendant with her other. She tossed the heirloom to the ground, pleased when it slid passed Stiles’ feet. “I suppose it's a fitting payment for a whore.”

Stiles glared at Jennifer, wanting to yell at her—to call her a vile witch. He turned away from her, knowing that despite being in the right, he was still not welcome in the court without Peter or Derek present. He moved to pick up the necklace, only to see familiar feminine hands pick up the piece of jewelry first.

Lydia kindly smiled at Stiles, offering the heirloom in her outstretched hand.

Stiles took the necklace, gratefully smiling back at her. He quickly moved to exit the room, aware of Boyd and Isaac’s footsteps following after him.

~*~

For once, Derek had been anxious to reach the temple steps, ready to race up them the second Peter reached the bottom to meet him. He felt unsteady when he realized Stiles was nowhere to be seen. His brow furrowed when Peter ushered him off Triskele.

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek asked Peter, his brow crinkling some. He didn’t like the smug look Jennifer had.

Peter turned to look, a perplexed expression taking over his features. “Odd, he was just there,” he stated, looking at Derek. “He was right next to me.”

Derek walked up the steps behind Peter, keeping a critical eye on Jennifer. “What do you have to smile about?” He questioned when he stood on the same step as her. “I came home alive, you should be in tears.”

Jennifer forced a bigger smile. “My husband is home,” she uttered as she leaned forward to kiss him.

Derek moved his head at the last second so Jennifer missed her target. He grabbed a hold of her waist, tightening a harsh grip on her. “Where is Stiles?”

Jennifer winced some before she pulled away from him. “I gave him a letter,” she simply stated. “It arrived a few days late for him, though. Pity.”

Derek was tempted to tip his hand, to push her just hard enough to make her lose her balance, and allow the steps to do the rest. He turned from her, heading inside to receive the blessing from the priestess to wash away his sins before entering the palace. He wanted it to be over and done with, a sinking feeling in his stomach that something catastrophic was in that letter.

~*~

Derek pushed the doors open with ease, pausing when he caught sight of Stiles’ still form.

Stiles’ back was turned towards Derek, sitting on the reclining couch as he stared out the opened archways of the balcony. As the light of the setting sun trickled through the room, he was haloed in a burst of soft orange. His back was straight, tense with the burden of whatever news the parchment held. He didn’t react to hearing Derek enter the room, one hand resting in his lap as the other allowed the parchment to dangle by his side, his fingertips barely holding it.

The news must have been catastrophic for Stiles to be gravely silent. Derek’s treacherous thoughts assumed it brought news about the death of some courtier—perhaps one Stiles loved.

“Stiles,” Derek called his name, wanting to rid himself of the thoughts that Stiles could possibly love someone enough to grieve them this deeply—someone that wasn’t him. It was a selfish thought, one Derek rarely indulged himself in.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek. His eyes were almost hollow, eyelashes clumping together in wet patches. The tears staining his face were almost dry, a few still present, but not bothersome enough to prompt Stiles into brushing them away. “I missed your return,” he weakly stated, as if he just realized what time it was. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Derek gently prompted him. He noticed that Stiles was in fine clothes, wearing their necklace, as if he had intended to be dressed his finest for Derek’s return. “The letter … ” He didn’t know how to word it, unsure what would upset Stiles more.

“A friend,” Stiles uttered, his voice soft but firm, as if he knew the jealous thoughts racing through Derek’s mind.

“Is there anything to be done?” Derek asked, offering himself up once more to anything Stiles wished.

Stiles shook his head. “No,” he managed to answer as he turned back to watching the sunset. “It’s too late.”

Derek moved forward, maneuvering himself as calmly as he was capable. His steps echoed in the silent room, feeling vast and cold for the first time since Stiles occupied the four walls. He stood behind Stiles, cautiously moving his hand, treating Stiles as he would a startled horse. He had little experience soothing aches of the heart, knowing that sometimes the fear and loneliness felt could only be remedied by a sure touch. His fingertips caressed the exposed skin of Stiles’ shoulder, slowly moving up the arch of Stiles’ neck until his knuckles brushed against Stiles’ cheek. His calloused hands were inexperienced in wiping tears away, but they moved with the purpose to try. He felt a wave of relief crash over him when Stiles briefly leaned into his touch.

Stiles stood from the couch, pulling away from Derek’s caresses. He allowed the parchment to fall from his fingertips, leaving it behind on the piece of furniture. He refused to look at Derek as he spoke, “She was a dear friend. Another courtesan.”

Derek remained silent, refraining from looking at the parchment as he allowed Stiles to explain it in his own words.

“We were both considered by the Emperor,” Stiles explained as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We were considered to be the most talented—the most popular,” he released a bitter scoff at the description they had been given when Peter first met them. “Heather was sweet. She was a romantic,” he paused. “She was naïve,” he critically stated.

“One of us was to accompany the Emperor here—to the palace to entertain his nephew,” Stiles unfolded his arms, running a hand through his hair. “The other was to become the kept lover of Nicolai Tervashti, nephew of Countess De Dupont,” his accent flared as he flawlessly pronounced the names of the Courtiers. “The Marquis’ cousin, and heir.”

Derek knew the De Dupont family well—a family that pushed to be a formidable rival, but concerned themselves more with propriety than anything else. The De Duponts were named Marquis, and became favored by Jennifer, immediately earning Derek’s distrust—they earned Derek’s dislike for their treatment of anyone belonging outside the Court.

“Heather was happy with Nicolai—he adored her, but she mistook it for love. Perhaps part of him did love her,” Stiles commented. “But not more than his love for wealth and social standing.” He turned to look at Derek. “Countess De Depont discovered that Heather was pregnant—a task Nicolai’s wife is unable to perform. She confronted Heather and told her to get rid of it.”

Stiles turned to pace, his feet cold against the marble floor. “It’s dangerous to terminate—even when knowing how to. The smallest slip up could cause irreversible damage. But it also takes a part of you,” his arms wrapped around his stomach, his own memories of drinking the bitter tea and crying through the night as the pains tore at him, stealing a small part of him away—never to be reclaimed again. “And sometimes, you want to keep the child. The smallest thought of having someone uniquely your own—to love and keep close.” He dropped his arms to his side, pretending that he never once felt the joy of knowing what it was to have a life growing inside him, before realizing what it meant to be forced to end it. 

“Countess De Dupont sent Heather’s head back to our teacher, requesting he use it as an example to teach the whores about propriety. To teach us  _ our place _ . That our wombs are not worthy of carrying the blood of the Court.”

The tears rolled across the curve of Stiles’ cheek as he stared at Derek. “Do you know why your uncle picked me?” He accepted Derek’s silence as an answer. “My hair is the color of ripened figs, and my eyes glisten with the faintest essence of warmed honey, is how my teacher puts it. Because you dislike blondes with pale eyes.” He tore his eyes away from Derek. “I’m alive, and Heather’s dead, because of my hair and eyes.”

Derek knew why Peter had rejected Heather. Blonde hair and pale eyes, the combination still haunted Derek’s dreams. It was why marrying Jennifer wasn’t as repugnant, at first. He still saw the way Kate’s yellow hair bounced against the backlit of the fire still raging; the pale joy burning in her eyes as she spat at Peter’s feet.

“You’re right to hate the court,” Stiles suddenly stated. “They’re cruel. They hold the power and they like to mess with everyone’s lives.”

Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own. “I’ve no finesse for words—I think you understand that better than anyone,” he offered. “But whatever you want, or need, I’ll give it to you.”

Stiles shook his head. “I want to stay here, for a while,” he uttered, looking around them. “I don’t want to go to any parties.”

Derek nodded.

“I know you have to go,” Stiles added as his brow furrowed. “But would you not linger? I’d like to know I’m not alone.”

Derek drew Stiles into a hug, holding him against his chest as he pressed a kiss into his hair. “I’ll hurry back,” he answered.

~*~

“What the fuck is this?” Peter demanded as he finished reading the letter. He looked up at Derek, expecting his nephew to answer.

Derek shook his head. “Heather was pregnant,” he offered, shrugging pointlessly. “I can’t tell you why the Marquis is a pompous moron who let his aunt convince him beheading a courtesan was better than letting a bastard child live.” He was angry—angry that an innocent woman had been killed for daring to love. He was hurt that he couldn’t help Stiles in the slightest with this pain. “An innocent girl died because the wealthy nobles think they’re better than commoners.”

Peter looked down at the letter again. “I want that teacher put out of business,” he simply stated. He waved his scribe over. “Send a letter back to Alamua, I want all of the possessions belonging to the courtesans Heather and Stiles to be brought here. And I want Harris to know that I’m more than displeased with his complacency in Heather’s murder.”

Derek was surprised by Peter’s wording. “You’re choosing your words carefully,” he stated.

Peter looked at Derek. “My words to the Marquis are going to be much more interesting.”

Derek nodded, almost swayed to ask Peter if he could see the letter before it went. He waited for the scribe to depart before speaking, “Jennifer kept the letter from Stiles.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “You think she’d learn.”

“She’ll never learn,” Derek replied with a sigh as he settled to sit on the reclining couch. He ran his hand through his hair. “She hates Stiles enough that she did this.”

“It was to get back at him for telling her off,” Peter answered. He looked at Derek when his nephew’s head perked up. “And he didn’t tell you, did he?”

“He was a bit inconsolable,” Derek countered.

Peter sighed. “She took Talia’s necklace from him.”

Derek’s features pinched with anger.

“Stiles got it back from her in a very public manner,” Peter replied. “I wish I had been there, actually. I heard it was rather amusing.” He paused for a moment, as if he was considering something. “I think I should send her away for a while,” he commented. “Give Stiles a break.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Peter. “Send her where?”

“She should make a family visit,” Peter simply stated. He snorted a little. “I’m sure you’ll want to tell her the happy news that she’ll be visiting the Citadel soon.”

~*~

Derek pressed Jennifer back into the wall, hidden out of sight by the flowing tapestries. He roughly grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to turn and look at him. His other hand held a vice grip on her hip, pinning her in place as he glowered at her. “You truly think I’m stupid, don’t you.”

“I think you’re emotional,” Jennifer countered.

Derek tightened his hold on her neck when she tried to get back out where others could see them. “You stole the necklace from Stiles in a rage of petty jealousy,” he pointedly accused her.

“It’s not stealing when it was meant to be mine,” Jennifer answered.

“It’s meant to belong to whoever I choose,” Derek replied as he glared at her. “You can’t leave anything alone, can you?”

“Get him out of the palace, and maybe I’ll start playing nice,” Jennifer answered.

“You delayed a letter, detailing the death of a dear friend of his, and you want to lay blame at his feet,” Derek incredulously stated.

“A whore lost her head because she thought she could have my cousin’s baby, and you want to lecture me about what? Propriety?” Jennifer spat at Derek. “Before long, he’ll be doing the exact same thing—parading around, claiming to be carrying your child.”

“I can only hope,” Derek angrily snapped at her.

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” she countered.

“I’d be glad,” Derek pressed further, a soft smile on his lips when he saw how angry that made her. “I always wanted to be a father. And Stiles makes that sentiment even stronger.”

Jennifer smacked Derek as hard as she could.

Derek released his hold on Jennifer as he touched his inflamed cheek. He curtly blocked Jennifer’s second attempt to hit him again, smacking her hand away from him. “You’ll be going back to the Marquis for a few months,” he informed her, dropping his hand from his face. “Peter’s sending you as an envoy to deliver his displeasure at hearing the Marquis allowed his aunt to press for the execution of an innocent girl. See if you can make nice with your own family.”

~*~

Stiles stirred when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning onto his back to look up at Derek. He smiled at him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Derek stated in a soft tone, reaching his hand up to brush his fingertips over Stiles’ cheek.

“I’ve slept the evening away,” Stiles honestly stated. “I’m glad you did wake me.” He reached his hand out to take hold of Derek’s free one, pulling on Derek’s arm to draw him closer. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Derek leaned down and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “So am I.”

“Tell me what happened?” Stiles softly asked.

“Tomorrow,” Derek offered, moving to lay down beside Stiles.

Stiles welcomed him, allowing Derek’s arms to wrap around his waist as they settled into the bed.

“I spoke with Peter,” Derek offered, his breath tickling the back of Stiles’ neck as he spoke. “He’s writing a letter to the Marquis and your old teacher.”

Stiles stiffened some, relaxing when Derek placed a chaste kiss on the curve of his neck.

“All your things are to be brought here,” Derek explained. “He requested Heather’s things as well, so you can do with them as she would have wanted.”

Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s hand. “That’s kind of him,” he spoke in a small voice, scared of the tears that might follow.

“He’s also sending Jennifer away for a while,” Derek added. He faintly smiled at Stiles when the other man turned to look at him. “She’s to bring his letter to the Marquis.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because she’s the Marquis’ cousin,” Derek answered. He tipped his head some as he added, “And Peter is reprimanding her further for her childish actions towards you.”

“She hasn’t—”

“I know she took the necklace, Stiles,” Derek stopped him before he could continue.

Sighing, Stiles answered, “Yes, she did, but honestly it was expected.”

“Expected?” Derek incredulously asked. “She oversteps her bounds once more and you make excuses for her.”

Stiles looked at Derek, turning to face him completely. “Is she not your wife?”

“I told you—”

“Legally, is she not your wife?”

Derek looked at Stiles, offering a begrudging nod.

“What little attention you gave her, I have stolen,” Stiles explained.

Derek reluctantly accepted Stiles’ reasoning, finding him to be more forgiving than he could ever be.

Stiles reached a hand up, pulling Derek closer by the back of his neck. “Having your attention is worth her petty games,” he stated against Derek’s lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings.  
> This chapter was the most difficult, I think. I've gone back and forth with what I wrote for the final scene, and it's the one that fit best.
> 
> This is the chapter where things get REAL. So ... enjoy? <3 It's going to be a bit of a curvy ride!

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, hands gripping at the muscle of Derek’s back as he curled up to meet him. He deepened their kiss, blocking out the sound of his own moans as he tucked his legs around the hook of Derek’s hips.

Derek kept his arm against the bed by Stiles’ side, his forearm keeping most of his weight from pressing down on Stiles. His other hand held Stiles’ hip, helping them move together at a steady pace.

They moved together slowly, languid in the way their hips came together.

It was slow and deliberate. A celebration, and a desperate attempt to have one last thing before Derek left again.

Four fortnights away, cutting short their time together before Jennifer unfortunately returned to the palace.

It had been a month of bliss.

Days spent in quiet conversation and shared interests. Their nights never saw them parted from the same bed.

It had become near domestic. And Stiles was afraid it would disappear once Derek left.

Stiles used his weight to turn them, pushing Derek back into the bed as he settled on top of him. He pressed his hands to Derek’s stomach, taking in a deep breath as he settled around Derek’s cock. He smiled when Derek’s hands rested on his hips. “I’m going to miss this,” he stated with a lazy smile.

Derek lightly laughed, a moan slipping out as Stiles shifted. “Still glad to know what part you’ll miss,” he mused.

Stiles shook his head. “No, this,” he stated in earnest as he leaned forward. He took his time to slip his tongue into their deepening kiss before pulling back, conscious of the way Derek’s grip tightened on his hips. “Being with you—just us. Having you here with me.”

“I’ll always come back for you,” Derek stated as he looked up at Stiles in near awe. He never dreamed he’d have anything close to this.

“I know,” Stiles stated with a smile. “Now relax,” he instructed as he started to undulate his hips in small increments. “And let me make you regret leaving me.”

Derek’s partial laughter died in his throat as moan punched out of his chest.

He’d be lucky if Stiles didn’t kill him.

~*~

Derek held Stiles’ cheeks in his hands, tilting his head up to him as he kissed him again. He deepened their kiss the moment he heard someone clear their throat. He knew it was Peter being impatient but he could wait.

Stiles opened his eyes to see Peter waiting expectantly. He pulled back, a soft shade of pink embarrassment spread up his neck and onto his face. He hadn’t blushed since he was a novice. “Your Majesty,” he greeted Peter.

“You’re late,” Peter said to Derek.

Derek placed a lingering kiss on Stiles’ lips, only pulling back when Stiles playfully pushed against his chest. “I’m reluctant to go,” he countered.

Peter narrowed his gaze at Derek. “It’s an honor to go as ambassador,” he reasoned.

Derek gave Peter an incredulous look.

“I’m sending you on a peace errand instead of to war. I think I deserve some credit,” Peter answered Derek’s downturned brows.

Derek ignored Peter, turning back to Stiles. “I’ll see you in four fortnights,” he started.

“Three,” Stiles bartered.

Derek looked at Peter.

Peter sighed. “Three,” he agreed.

“I told you he likes you,” Derek stated before kissing Stiles once more.

Stiles smiled into their kiss. “I’ll see you in three fortnights.”

Derek parted from Stiles with a reluctance, his hand holding onto Stiles’ arm as he descended the steps. He hated the way his heart dropped when Stiles’ hand left his. He realized he had fallen in love with Stiles despite all his reasons not to.

Perhaps he’d be able to admit it once the loneliness of the following weeks sunk in.

Stiles swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He pretended that Peter couldn’t see his look of sorrow before he covered it up.

_ I love you _ , Stiles thought, hating himself for not saying it.

Courtesans don’t love, they sell it. That was what Harris always said.

But Stiles knew his heart, and he knew he loved Derek.

~*~

Stiles gripped the basin tightly, trying to keep from swaying. His nausea was worsening just as another wave hit him. He threw up once more, groaning to himself when it suddenly passed. He pulled away from the basin in disgust, using a cloth to wipe his mouth. He needed to clean his teeth, feeling gross just at the thought. He paused his motions, everything suddenly falling together.

“Oh no,” Stiles mumbled to himself. “Gods, no,” he uttered as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his legs as he pressed his knees into his chest. He shook his head, knowing that he couldn’t be certain for another few weeks.

~*~

“Your Majesty,” Stiles called Peter’s name.

Peter turned to look at Stiles in surprise. He stopped walking with his council, turning to face Stiles with a pleasant smile. “And what brings my nephew’s prized flower out of his rooms?”

Stiles tried to force a friendly smile at Peter’s taunting, but he felt too ill to commit.

Peter’s expression fell as he took a few steps closer to Stiles. “Are you alright?” He asked in concern.

Stiles nodded too quickly to be believable. “May I speak with you some time? In private?”

Peter’s brow furrowed, a look of resignation on his face. He believed he knew what Stiles was asking without hearing it. “I’m free tomorrow morning—join me for a late breakfast?”

Stiles tried not to blanch at the idea of food. “Yes, thank you.”

Peter nodded, turning to take his leave of Stiles. He was trying to plan how he was going to tell Derek that Stiles wanted to leave. He was certain he had seen the affection in Stiles’ face when looking at Derek. Perhaps Stiles was just that good of an actor.

~*~

Stiles sighed, cursing himself for not having more than one outfit with enough fabric to hide his already curved stomach. He had been glowering at his stomach a week before Derek left, seeing the obvious added weight. He had blamed it on his newly accustomed diet—he was mad at himself for not realizing sooner that he was pregnant. He knew he was likely a few months along, and before long it would be impossible to hide it. He knew, for better or worse, that he had to let Peter know as soon as possible.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter stated, turning to look at Stiles. He noticed Stiles barely ate the food on his plate. “And I think I know why,” he started.

Stiles startled, looking up at Peter in surprise. “You do?”

Peter sighed, nodding. “I just didn’t think you’d want to leave him while he’s gone,” he added.

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Peter looked at Stiles. “I promised you that you could leave whenever you wanted,” he started. “It’s only … I’ve never seen Derek as happy as he’s been when with you. And I thought I started to see you genuinely happy as well.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped open. “I am,” he quickly stated.

Peter looked confused now. He was about to speak, pausing when the servant brought the bottle of wine back, filling his goblet a second time. He narrowed his gaze when Stiles rejected the wine again before asking for water. He waited for the servant to leave.

“I wanted to discuss something with you,” Stiles started as he looked down at his hands. “I wanted to tell Derek, but not through a letter.”

Peter stared at Stiles. “You’re pregnant,” he stated simply.

Stiles looked at Peter in surprise. “Yes,” he roughly stated.

Peter released a breath, silence falling between them.

Laughter suddenly bubbled up from Peter’s chest.

Stiles looked perplexed.

Peter shook his head. “Forgive me,” he laughed, placing a hand over his heart. He smiled at Stiles. “I’m just … I’m very happy.”

Stiles felt relief wash over him the second Peter spoke those words. “I wanted to tell you before … well, before it’s noticeable.”

Peter nodded, a near giddy laugh evident in the breath he let out. “This is such happy news,” he added.

“You don’t think,” Stiles started before he stopped himself. He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Peter looked at Stiles. “You’re concerned about Derek’s reaction?” He questioned as if it was too insane to be true.

Stiles closed his eyes as he drew in a steady breath. “It’s easy to assume he’d be happy … but he’s never mentioned it to me. All I know is how distasteful he thinks it is to have a baby with Jennifer.”

Peter reached out to take Stiles’ hand in his own. “Stiles,” he softly prompted. “Anyone would be cautious in having a child with a spouse like Jennifer. But with you … ” He fondly smiled at Stiles. “I have a feeling Derek will be very happy.”

Stiles looked away from Peter when he felt tears burning his eyes. “I know what this means, Peter. It means my baby still isn’t mine.”

“Of course it is,” Peter countered.

Stiles shook his head. “This child will be next in line after Derek,” he reasoned. “And if something was to happen and Derek dismissed me, I’d never see them—”

“I would not allow that,” Peter sharply stated. “Derek would not allow that.”

Stiles looked at Peter. “You can’t know that—”

“I do,” Peter argued. “Family is important to both Derek and I,” he rationalized, tightening his hand on Stiles’. “And you’ve become a part of that.”

Stiles barely nodded, still unable to believe it could be that simple.

“I’ll send to have Derek come back early,” Peter offered.

Stiles shook his head in protest. “He’ll know something is wrong.”

“Then he’ll hurry back faster,” Peter replied.

Stiles lightly laughed at that, knowing it to be true.

“Oh, Stiles,” Peter uttered as he reclined back in his chair, taking a sip of his wine. “I never thought this would be the outcome,” he partially chuckled. “But it’s a pleasant one.”

Stiles was grateful for Peter’s kindness.

~*~

It was late in the night, the morning hours approaching, when the doors to Stiles’ and Derek’s rooms burst open.

Stiles startled, the fogginess of sleep still gripping him as he sat up to face whoever was trespassing. He was shocked to find half a dozen imperial guards entering. “What are you doing?” He demanded when some of them started to go through his things. He watched in horror as they upset his things, pulling drawers from his vanity and turning the contents onto the floor. He sprung from the bed, making sure his night dressings were secure before he tried to stop them. “How dare you!” He shouted at one of them that cast his various vials down on the ground once inspecting them.

Stiles startled when a hand grabbed his arm. He was prepared to attack the person when he realized it was Boyd.

“Don’t cause a scene,” Boyd softly stated, his voice quiet amongst the chaos.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked in a hurry, flinching when he heard fabric rip.

“They’re looking for poisons,” Boyd explained.

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “I … I don’t understand,” he started.

“The Emperor’s been poisoned,” Boyd offered. He looked at Stiles with pity. “You were the last to be alone with him.”

Stiles’ features filled with horror. “Boyd, I didn’t— I wouldn’t—”

“Don’t say anything until Derek gets back,” Boyd instructed Stiles.

“Found it,” a guard announced.

Stiles turned to look at the man. He could see the small translucent bag he held in his hand, apparently hidden in the vase where he typically kept incense. “That’s not mine,” he sternly uttered. He looked at Boyd. “That isn’t mine,” he repeated.

“Bring it to Lydia,” Boyd instructed the guard. He put a hand out to stop the guard from trying to grab Stiles. “I’ll escort the prisoner to the cells.”

Stiles looked at Boyd in shock, betrayal evident on his face. He reluctantly allowed Boyd to lead him from the rooms. He walked in near silence, realizing he forgot to grab even a pair of slippers when his feet touched the cold floor of the halls. He collected himself enough to ask, “Is Peter alive?”

Boyd looked around them for a moment before answering, “Barely. But alive.”

Stiles nodded. “So he might recover,” he pressed.

“Lydia is doing her best,” Boyd replied.

Stiles released a sigh, knowing that if anyone could save Peter from a poison it would be Lydia. He bit his lip. “I couldn’t tell, but what the guard said was … it looked like a tea meant to get rid of babies.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand instinctively moving to rest protectively over his own stomach. “If someone was to ingest too much, it could kill them.”

Boyd looked at Stiles. “You think … ”

“If someone wants it to look like I tried to kill the emperor, they would use that,” Stiles reasoned.

They both remained silent as they continued on their way towards the dungeons.

The palace dungeons were in the dank cellar, under the heart of the palace. The cells had no windows, and barely any light. It was colder than the rest of the palace, a shiver running through Stiles’ body the further they walked in.

Boyd took the keys from the guard on duty. “No one is to talk to him until the prince gets back,” he firmly stated to the guard. He leveled the man with a sharp glare. “Understood?”

The guard quickly nodded.

Boyd escorted Stiles down to one of the final cells. He paused, watching as Stiles shivered on the small cot in the corner of the room. “I’ll see about blankets,” he offered.

Stiles nodded, shock still settling into his bones as he observed the stone around him.

Boyd stepped out of the cell, shutting the door with a clank before locking it. His steps echoed down the corridor as he started to leave.

Stiles quickly stood, dashing towards the bars. “Boyd,” he softly called to the other man as he leaned against the bars to look at him.

Boyd turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles wanted to ask what he thought, but he was too scared. He didn’t want to see the judgment in Boyd’s eyes cast down on him. “Could you … please hide the necklace?” He softly asked. “I would hate for it to go missing, and Derek to think the worst.” He looked down, ashamed of the tears that started to form.

“I will,” Boyd stated. He turned to leave, only taking a few steps before stopping. He drew in a breath, looking over his shoulder before adding, “I believe you.”

Stiles pressed a hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing, pulling away from the bars to hide in the darkness of his cell.

~*~

Derek dismounted from Triskele, petting a hand down her mane as he smiled at her. He was happy to be home, curious why Peter would have sent for him so soon. He thought of the surprise on Stiles’ face at seeing him—he hoped it would be a pleasant surprise for them both.

“Derek,” Boyd’s voice broke through Derek’s thoughts.

Derek turned to look at Boyd. He faintly smiled. “Could you tell Stiles I’m back?”

Boyd’s expression grew grim.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Has no one told you?” Boyd asked in confusion.

“Told me what?” Derek partially laughed. His smile fell away. “What happened?”

“Your uncle’s been poisoned,” Boyd stated. “He’s alive, but unresponsive.”

Derek looked away from Boyd, his hold on Triskele swaying some. “Is Stiles okay?” He quickly asked.

Boyd’s features pinched some. “Stiles has been arrested.”

~*~

Stiles leaned against the wall, not looking at the bars. He was staring at the corner of his cell, where his chamber pot was. He has been surprised they afforded him even that luxury. He curled his legs up against his chest as he tried to keep warm against the cot.

“I don’t know why you don’t just admit it.”

Stiles finally turned to look at Jennifer. He glared at the woman.

Jennifer faintly smiled. “The necklace is missing, too,” she commented. “Did you sell it to buy the poison?”

Stiles scoffed, turning to look back at the wall. “Why are you here?”

Jennifer sighed, running her hands along the fabric of her dress as she straightened out the material. “It’s cold down here,” she stated. “Can’t be good for you.”

“Like you care,” Stiles stiffly mumbled.

“I could ask for blankets to be brought to you,” Jennifer offered.

“And hide a snake in them to kill me,” Stiles countered.

Jennifer pursed her lips. “They say Peter won’t make it by the time Derek returns,” she commented.

Stiles’ features pinched.

“Your trial is coming up, too,” Jennifer added. “It’d be a shame for you to be put through such a public spectacle.”

“I’m sure you’d love it,” Stiles replied.

“I would,” Jennifer truthfully stated. “But I want to make sure the person who hurt Peter is brought to justice.”

“Have you looked in the mirror today?” Stiles retorted.

Jennifer glared at Stiles through the bars.

“Where is he?”

Stiles turned and looked at the bars, believing himself to be hallucinating Derek’s voice.

Jennifer turned to look at the guard station, a look of shock blazen on her face when she saw Derek.

Stiles knew he wasn’t hearing things once he saw Jennifer’s face. He rushed towards the bars.

Jennifer turned to look at Stiles. She hastily reached through the bars, grabbing Stiles by the hair now that she could reach him.

Stiles yelped, reaching his own hand through the bars to grab her hair.

“Where is the necklace?” Jennifer demanded.

“Safe from you,” Stiles snapped at her.

Jennifer dug her nails into Stiles’ scalp, stating in a low tone, “You’ll die in this cell before he gets you out.”

“Go to hell,” Stiles growled at her. He shoved her some, releasing his hold on her.

Jennifer tsked at her hand in disgust, as if Stiles was the filthiest thing she encountered in weeks. She paused, watching as Stiles adjusted his robes. She caught sight of the way Stiles fixed his robes around his stomach with care. Her gaze narrowed. She was about to say something when she heard footsteps.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Derek snapped at Jennifer the minute he saw her.

Jennifer took a step away from the bars. “He just attacked me, like he attacked your uncle.”

Derek took an angered step towards Jennifer, only stopping when Boyd grabbed his arm. He knew better—he knew so much better than to rise to her taunts, but something inside him had snapped the minute Boyd told him what happened. He was furious with Jennifer, knowing she had something to do with it.

“Get out,” Derek commanded her.

Jennifer bowed, turning an eye towards Stiles as she left.

Stiles wrapped his arms around himself when Derek turned to look at him. He felt embarrassed, knowing he was filthy from being in the cell for weeks. His features were gaunt with exhaustion and hunger, looking far different than his normally pampered appearance. He barely slept, unable to when the guard took the blankets Boyd had brought him after the first week.

“Open the cell,” Derek ordered the guard, a sharpness in his voice.

“Your Highness, I’ve been instructed by the council—”

“Open the fucking cell,” Derek stated in a slow and even voice as he looked at the man. “Or I’ll break your hands and open it myself.”

Stiles would have been impressed by the guard’s speed if it wasn’t for the situation. He drew in a sharp breath when instead of ushering him out of the cell, Derek walked into the cell with him.

Derek looked at Boyd and then the guard. “I think I can be alone with him.”

The guard squirmed a bit before hightailing it away.

Derek’s resolve broke the minute the guard was out of view. He turned to Stiles, embracing him in a flurry. He pulled Stiles into a tight hug.

“I’m filthy,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s shoulder, despite the fact that he was holding onto Derek just as tightly.

“You honestly think I care,” Derek scoffed. He pulled back to look at Stiles more closely. “How long have you been in here?”

“I think a fortnight?” Stiles lost track of time, unsure if he slept more or less than he thought. He stopped trying to count the sunrises and sunsets. He shivered some, realizing how much colder he was now that Derek’s warmth was surrounding him.

Derek pulled his cloak off, wrapping it around Stiles.

Stiles folded the cloak around himself, making sure he was covered as much as possible. He looked at Derek, unsure what he should say. He decided to focus on his current situation, wondering if Peter was truly doing as bad as Jennifer said. “What’s going to happen?”

Derek drew in an uneven breath. “The council … ” He bit off his words, a grumpy expression taking over.

Stiles connected the dots. “They want to execute me,” he solemnly uttered.

“Key courtiers asked for a trial since Peter is technically not dead,” Derek stated. “I didn’t get to ask all the questions I wanted, they bombarded me the second I walked in.”

Stiles was surprised that some asked for a trial.

Derek sighed. “I’m one of three judges,” he explained.

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Then … I have a chance to keep my head.” He had tried to sound optimistic, but wasn’t sure it came across.

Derek nodded.

“And the others?” Stiles asked.

Derek frowned. “A courtier I don’t know and … Jennifer.”

“Oh gods,” Stiles uttered, feeling as if he was going to vomit. “I’m going to die.”

Derek took hold of Stiles’ arm, moving him to sit down on the cot. He sat beside Stiles with care. “You know I won’t let that happen,” he softly stated.

Stiles shook his head. “You have to seem impartial,” he stated before looking at Derek.

“They can’t carry out a sentence without a royal approval,” Derek explained. “Which means when Peter wakes up, or … ” His words died off, the reality of what he was saying started to sink in. “No matter the outcome, you won’t be executed.”

Stiles drew in a heavy breath, nodding.

“But you’re right, I have to seem impartial,” Derek reluctantly agreed to Stiles’ earlier statement. “Which means,” he paused. “I can’t visit you.”

Stiles closed his eyes, nodding. “I know.” He couldn’t tell Derek the truth. He knew Derek would blunder through it all, like an ox charging through vases—playing directly into Jennifer’s hand.

He would tell Derek later—when everything was over. They could share that happiness together.

Derek stayed for more than an hour, holding Stiles against him. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders as they sat on the ratty cot together. He could do little more than hope this would be over soon.

~*~

Stiles sighed, listening to account after account of courtiers trying to diminish his character. He could see the anger in Derek’s features, glad no one else could read it as such—he looked annoyed to the untrained eye.

Stiles’ gaze wandered over to the courtier serving as his third judge. He had hope that not all was lost. He was shocked, to say the least, when seeing her here, knowing she was free to roam wherever she pleased now that her divorce had been finalized. He would have to thank her for coming to his rescue a second time.

Countess de Marr offered Stiles the faintest of smiles when he entered the great hall. She had been a day’s ride from the palace when she heard of the assassination attempt on the emperor. She had been perplexed when reports told her it was done by none other than Stiles’ hand. She rode to the imperial palace at breakneck speed, offering herself in service to Lydia. She feigned ignorance about Stiles, acting as if she had no idea who the courtesan was.

As if Stiles had not been the one to save her when he took a serving blade to her husband’s balls.

Countess de Marr was free to pursue a  _ fruitful _ marriage now that her husband proved incapable of giving her that. And free from his abuse. She wasn’t going to let Stiles suffer for something she knew he didn’t commit.

“Is that all?” The Countess tiredly asked, as if she was bored with what had been presented to her. “You found a tea, one that is commonly used among courtesans and kept lovers to prevent bastards,” she began when the herbalist speaking tried to talk over her. “And you expect me to believe what? That he poisoned the emperor with it?”

A fraction of the courtiers laughed.

Stiles felt something in his chest loosen.

“Wouldn’t that mean he has knowledge of the poison?” Jennifer asked. “I’m sure an experienced courtesan like Stiles would know how much to use to poison someone.”

Stiles wanted to rip her tongue out.

“This is ridiculous,” Derek huffed out in annoyance. “The threat to my uncle’s life could still be out there,” he pointedly looked at Jennifer. “And instead we have a case presented to us based on conjecture.”

The Countess looked at Derek. “I find myself agreeing with the prince,” she sighed. “A waste of time.”

“Why bother having the tea?” Jennifer prompted, looking at Derek.

Derek’s jaw ticked.

The Countess looked at Jennifer. “Most courtesans have it.”

“It’s expensive, no?” Jennifer asked the herbalist.

The man quickly nodded. “Yes—the leaves do not dry well, you have to buy them fresh.”

Derek looked at the man. “I’m sure anyone could get their hands on tea like that.”

“It would cost a small fortune,” the herbalist countered.

“Husband, didn’t you say you couldn’t find your mother’s necklace?” Jennifer asked loudly as she looked at Derek.

Derek could see the glint of joy in Jennifer’s eyes when he looked at her with a murderous glare. “I haven’t searched for it,” he gruffly replied.

Jennifer made a surprised face, feigning innocence. She looked at the herbalist. “Could a prized imperial jewel be enough?”

The man shrugged some. “I suppose, given the size of the gem and the amount purchased.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. It was unraveling fast.

“This is ridiculous, he didn’t pawn my mother’s necklace,” Derek forcefully countered.

“You sound as if you’re defending him,” Jennifer replied in mock concern. “You’re still infatuated with him,” she stated in shock.

The courtiers started to murmur, a few more dramatic softly gasped at the revelation.

“I’m not,” Derek countered. He knew he was losing control of the situation. He could hear some of the council speaking. He bit his tongue, looking at Stiles for a moment, knowing he was going to regret his next words.

Jennifer started to press once more in an attempt to discredit Derek. “He sells affections, and you bought—”

“He’s a fucking whore,” Derek snapped at Jennifer, loud enough that the room silenced as he pinned Jennifer with a glare.

The Countess looked from Derek back to Stiles. “I think we can vote based on that alone,” she artfully stated in a calm voice, an attempt to not dwell on Derek’s outburst. “I’m passing a verdict of not guilty,” she added.

“Not guilty,” Derek forcefully stated, still looking at Jennifer.

Jennifer seemed displeased. “I’m not sure,” she stated.

“Well, considering two of three have voted the same, I can’t say that matters,” the Countess replied in a sharp tone.

Derek’s gaze traveled towards Stiles, his hands tightening into fists against his thighs.

Stiles wouldn’t look at Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... good things coming soon, I promise. There is a reason I tagged it 'angst with a happy ending' <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a whirlwind. Good news and bad. There is only one chapter about, but I need time to finish it. Which means the chapter won't be ready until this weekend likely. I hope you can hang in there, and know that I'm working on it after I get out of work every evening.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Stiles wrapped Derek’s cloak around himself even tighter. He knew what Derek said was a ploy—rationally, he knew it. It still hurt to hear those words being spoken by Derek. But it was effective in getting the others to believe Stiles meant nothing more than that. Despite Stiles keeping that hope in his heart that he did. He had remained quiet when the Countess came to visit, unsure how to keep himself composed under the circumstances.

“A sentence will be discussed and suggested for your punishment,” the Countess offered.

“Even though you find me not guilty, they want me punished,” Stiles hollowly stated.

The Countess frowned. “Our vote saved your life,” she offered. “But without a unanimous vote… well, some form of punishment needs to be passed.”

Stiles stared at the wall in front of him, faintly nodding as he accepted the Countess’s reasoning.

“I’ll be around for a while,” the Countess offered when she realized Stiles was still holding himself back. “What was said … he didn’t mean it,” she stated with a soft smile when Stiles finally looked at her. “He cares, and I think it scared him to lose the footing in that room.” She looked at the approaching figure, noticing that it was Derek. She moved to stand from the small stool the guards had brought for her. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Stiles frowned when the Countess departed as Derek reached his holding cell. He turned to look away from him. He appreciated the Countess’ words, but he knew he couldn’t handle a conversation with Derek now.

Derek lingered, waiting for the Countess to be gone. “Stiles,” he started, hoping that speaking his name would prompt Stiles to look at him. He released a heavy sigh when Stiles refused to look. “I wanted to talk to you about … about what I said.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s fine,” he hollowly stated.

“No, it’s not,” Derek countered. “It’s far from fine.”

“What’s said has been said,” Stiles roughly stated. “Your Highness does not owe me anything.”

Stiles’ words felt like a slap, the edge of his voice strained with hidden emotion as he formally addressed Derek.

“Stiles, please,” Derek forcefully pleaded with him.

“Your Highness,” a voice called to Derek, followed by the fast paced echo of footsteps drawing closer.

“You know I’ve never seen you that way,” Derek softly stated. “Stiles … ” He leaned against the bars, uncaring when the guard reached them. “What?” He partially snapped at the man when he just lingered nearby.

“Lydia requested you,” the guard explained.

“She can wait,” Derek angrily replied.

“Your uncle’s health is worsening—she pressed urgency,” the guard replied.

Derek bit out a curse. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he finally offered. He glowered at the guard when he dared to stay. “I want to be alone with him,” he stated as he gestured towards Stiles.

“Whatever your Highness has to say to me can be said in front of them,” Stiles simply stated.

Derek ignored Stiles in favor of glaring at the guard. “Leave,” he barked, watching in satisfaction when the man practically ran. He looked back at Stiles. “Don’t act as if things changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” Stiles stated, more in an attempt to convince himself. “You are still a prince, and I am still a whore.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Derek demanded.

“It’s what I am!” Stiles snapped at Derek, finally looking at him. “You can dress it up however you want to—but I will not lie about it. I know what I am.”

Derek tightened his grip on the bars, biting back his own argument as he looked away from Stiles.

Stiles released a heavy breath. “You should go,” he weakly offered. He looked back at Derek when he didn’t answer him. “I’m not going anywhere, you can always come back,” he tried to offer as a solution. He just wanted Derek to leave him to his own miseries. He didn’t want to cry in front of him.

Derek hesitated.

“He’s the last of your family,” Stiles firmly stated. He caught the flicker of hurt in Derek’s features.

A pregnant pause lingered between them as Derek shuffled his weight some.

Derek tapped his hand on the bars, a deprecative scoff escaping him.

“I thought you were,” Derek stated with finality. He turned with haste, departing before he could ruin whatever was left. He wanted to strangle Jennifer for her stunt, but he knew he had been equally to blame.

Stiles wrapped his arms around his knees, unsure of himself. Part of him wanted Derek to hurt as much as he had. But now, he just wanted them to leave the palace and be alone together, away from the judging eyes of everyone else.

~*~

Derek sat beside Peter’s bed, watching as his uncle suffered another fever dream. He reached a hand out to take hold of Peter’s hand. He placed his other hand on Peter’s forearm, hoping it was enough of an anchor to keep Peter from seizing again. “Is he going to die?”

Lydia turned to look at Derek, a mortar and pestle held poisely in her hands as she looked from Derek to Peter. “I’m not sure,” she honestly stated. “Most times, with this poison, people are awake and responsive. I’ve never seen it like this.”

“So someone did try to kill him,” Derek answered, his brows pinched.

“Someone poisoned that wine with enough of this tea, trying to kill someone,” Lydia answered as she turned back to her table.

Derek narrowed his gaze at Lydia. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Lydia sharply began with a deep sigh in her voice. “If Stiles was the only person at the table with Peter when he was poisoned, it’s likely Peter wasn’t the intended target.”

Derek looked at Peter. “You think Jennifer was trying to kill Stiles by making it look like he took too much of the tea,” he finally stated.

“A botched abortion,” Lydia replied.

Derek shook his head. “Stiles wouldn’t do this to anyone,” he finally stated.

Lydia looked at Derek. “So you believe him,” she replied. “Good,” she added when Derek nodded. “It was ridiculous not to.”

“I know that,” Derek cliply answered. “I always believed him.”

Lydia looked at Derek. “Make sure you tell him that,” she replied. She looked at Peter, her lips pursing before falling into a frown. “If your uncle gets better, it will be tonight or tomorrow. After that … ” She closed her eyes as she strengthened her resolve to be clinical about it. “It would be cruel to keep him lingering.”

Derek hesitated when Lydia pinned him under a heated gaze. He reluctantly nodded. “I understand,” he stated. “I’ll stay with him tonight,” he added.

~*~

“I was wondering when you’d come,” Stiles stated to the darkness around him. He could see the glowing light from the torches down the hallway, barely making out shadowy outlines. But he knew when she had arrived, the stench of her perfume lingering.

“I had things to think about,” Jennifer replied, remaining still as she lingered in front of the bars. She had her back pressed into the wall as she observed Stiles.

“How to kill me and make it look like a suicide,” Stiles tiredly stated before turning to look at her.

A small smile pulled at Jennifer’s lips. “Yes,” she replied. “But then I realized, it wouldn’t do any good to have Derek mourning you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he looked away from her. “How thoughtful of you.”

Jennifer took a step closer to the bars. “If you were executed, I could have any headless body presented as yours for inspection, and he’d never know. But Derek had to ruin that by being all noble and hurting your feelings.” She shook her head in anger. “I think he hated himself more than me in that moment.”

“What do you want?” Stiles snapped at her. “I’m not interested in chatting with you because you have no friends.”

Jennifer released a soft laugh. “You ruined my plans, Stiles, because you had to go and get pregnant.”

Stiles snapped his head to look at her. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Jennifer lowly stated. “Don’t play coy with me,” she stated in a threatening tone. “He’s never had more than one night with lovers. But you … you just couldn’t fucking take the hint.”

Stiles moved to stand, unsure if Jennifer had a way of getting into the cell. He was prepared to fight for his life—for the life of his baby, if need be.

“But Derek doesn’t know, does he?” Jennifer questioned.

“What do you want, Jennifer?” Stiles softly asked.

“He would have torn this cell door out of the wall if he knew,” Jennifer softly stated. “Would have plunged the entire empire into a fucking war because of his pregnant whore.”

Stiles remained quiet as he watched her.

“You realize that, don’t you?” Jennifer asked as she looked at Stiles. “He could lose everything because he’d be willing to keep his bastard by his side.”

Stiles was unsure how to answer her. He wondered when she became so deluded that she couldn’t see the love and compassion Derek could have for others, not just blood ties. “You’re delirious with anger because you think he loves me for giving him a child he knows nothing about,” he stated. He pressed back into the wall when Jennifer nearly startled forward. “He doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

Jennifer appeared satisfied by that answer.

“So, what are the options?”

Jennifer looked surprised by Stiles’ question. “You have two,” she finally offered. “When I leave here, a guard will bring you freshly brewed tea,” she paused to make sure Stiles understood what she implied. She was content when she saw the grim line Stiles’ lips settled into. “You’ll drink the tea, and then in the morning, you’ll be on the first ship to bring you back to your homeland.”

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his voice clear of emotion. “And the other option?”

Jennifer leaned away from the bars to look down where the torch was burning. “I call for the guard, I let him, and anyone else who wants a go, to have at you for the night.” She looked at Stiles. “And just a few hours before the sun rises, I’ll have your throat slit, your body disposed of in a place Derek will never find it.”

Stiles looked away from Jennifer. “Not really an option then,” he hollowly stated. He was a great actor—he could trick someone as conceited as Jennifer. “I noticed that I don’t get to say goodbye to Derek in either of those options.”

“You’ll never talk to him again,” Jennifer plainly stated. “You’ll leave before he’s even aware.”

Stiles nodded. He looked at Jennifer before adding, “I’d rather brew the tea myself.”

“And yet you won’t,” Jennifer replied. “I’m not going to kill you with it now that you’re locked in the cells.”

Stiles’ features fell some.

“I wanted you to drink that wine,” Jennifer simply stated. “But now, having you kill your baby—one I’m sure you want to actually keep for once, and live with that? That is so much better,” she said with a smile.

Stiles wiped a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. “So you do know how to use the tea?”

Jennifer huffed. “You think I don’t know how to use it?” She leaned against the bars, whispering between them, “I’ve gotten rid of bastards that I couldn’t pass off as Derek’s. I was so close this last time, before you came here.” She faintly smiled. “I want you to suffer, Stiles. And I can’t have that if you die here tonight.”

Stiles looked away from her.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Jennifer offered. “The guard will watch you drink the tea.”

Stiles weakly nodded.

~*~

Derek dreamed about his mother. Her smile and warm embrace. He dreamed of her saying how proud she was. He turned his head into the curve of her palm, allowing her to fondly run her fingers through a few strands of his hair. He stirred some when a weight pulled at one braid.

“Your hair is knotted,” a masculine voice stated.

Derek bolted up when he heard Peter’s voice.

Peter was still laying in bed, his eyes barely open as he faintly smiled at Derek. “Should see your face,” he snorted, wincing in pain as he placed a hand on his stomach. “I thought you were your mother for a second.”

Derek stared at Peter in shock that his uncle was even speaking.

Peter tried to wave a hand at Derek. “Come on, that’s funny. You know you have her cheekbones,” he rationalized.

“How long have you been awake?” Derek questioned. He moved to get Peter water when his uncle attempted to grab the glass himself.

Peter gratefully took the water from Derek. “Only a few moments.” He fell back into the bed, exhausted. “I feel terrible,” he mumbled, placing a hand over his face. “I feel like … like someone cut my insides up.”

Derek relaxed in his chair for a moment. “Do you remember anything?” He asked. “Anything about the poison? About who did it?”

Peter looked at Derek in surprise. “What are you talking about? I had a … super late breakfast with Stiles. I felt a little off an hour later, but … ” His voice trailed off as he let his hand fall from his face. “Stiles …” He tried to sit up, cursing in pain before falling back. “Where is Stiles?”

Derek tried to help Peter sit up some when his uncle tried once more to sit up on his own. “I need you to remember, Peter,” he sternly stated. “Who poisoned you?”

“I don’t know,” Peter snapped. “I drank that stupid wine from … ” He stared at Derek as his words died in his mouth. “The Marquis.”

Derek stared at Peter. “What?”

“The Marquis sent a case of wine,” Peter explained. “Stiles was with me, he had important … news to discuss.” He paused, looking around them. “Where is he? Is he alright?”

Derek swallowed. “He was arrested for your attempted assassination.”

“What?” Peter incredulously demanded. “The fucking Marquis must have poisoned the wine. Stiles didn’t have any. Just talk to Stiles and he’ll tell you.” He narrowed his gaze at Derek when his nephew didn’t answer. “Is he still under arrest?”

“He was put on trial,” Derek stated. He pressed on despite Peter’s cursing, “The Countess de Marr and I found him not guilty, but Jennifer wouldn’t fucking budge. The council is coming up with his sentence today.”

“Like hell they are,” Peter angrily stated.

The doors abruptly opened, allowing Boyd to enter the room. “His things are gone,” he quickly stated to Derek.

Derek’s expression fell some. “What do you mean? How?”

“I went to return the necklace,” Boyd explained as he offered it out in his hand to Derek. “He asked me to keep it safe when he was arrested. He didn’t want Jennifer stealing it, and trying to convince you he sold it.”

Derek took the necklace from Boyd.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you during the upheaval. I thought it would be safer to keep it on me, but then the trial … I’m sorry,” he offered before shaking his head. “I went to put it back in your rooms undetected, hoping it could be used against whatever sentence was passed. But more than half his things are gone, as if they had been packed up in a hurry,” he explained.

Derek tightened his hold on the necklace. “It’s not your fault,” he replied. “I should have lied when they asked. I … I should have made it clear to Stiles that I believe him.”

Peter struggled to sit up better. “I want Jennifer and Stiles brought here,” he informed Boyd, waving off the guard’s helpful gesture. “If they make me hobble down there to confront people, I’m going to be pissed.”

Boyd nodded, turning to leave.

Derek stared down at his hold on the necklace.

Peter looked at Derek. “Have you talked to him?”

Derek tore his gaze away from the necklace in order to look at his uncle. “Briefly,” he offered. “I haven’t had a chance—I had to act … indifferent to him.” He released a pain scoff. “I called him a whore to make them think I didn’t care about him.”

Peter drew in a long breath. “Not a fine moment,” he commented. “But did you mean it?”

“I would wade through countless gore and shit if it would make him realize how much he means to me,” Derek stated. “Of course I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m sure he knows,” Peter replied. “But make sure you tell him, as often as possible, how much you love him—that’s a start.”

Derek looked at Peter in surprise.

“Oh please,” Peter laughed at Derek. “You’re obvious—you both are. Though you’re both stubborn idiots.”

Derek frowned.

Peter reached a hand out, touching Derek’s arm to gain his attention. “Derek … there is something very important you need to discuss with him.”

Derek looked confused by Peter’s words. He was about to ask what Peter meant when the doors opened.

“Your Majesty,” Jennifer’s voice cut through the moment. “The guards informed me of the good news,” she falsely smiled, conscious of the two guards who followed her like shadows.

Peter’s expression fell into an annoyed one. “No need to stand on airs, Jennifer. I’m sure you’re just as disappointed as your cousin.”

Jennifer forced a faint smile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“We’ll wait to discuss this when Stiles gets here,” Peter dismissed her words.

Jennifer pursed her lips. “He won’t be coming,” she flatly stated.

Derek turned to look at her. “Excuse me?” He softly asked, dreading that he had heard her correctly.

Jennifer looked from Derek to Peter. “He’s gone,” she offered.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s gone?” Derek demanded as he stood up, kicking over his chair in his hastiness.

“He left a few hours ago,” Jennifer stated. “The council passed their judgement. They exiled him, believing his Majesty wouldn’t recover. He took a few belongings, and left.”

Derek took a few steps towards Jennifer.

“Derek,” Peter forcefully stated his name in warning. “Pay her no mind. Send the guards down to the docks. We’ll send a fast ship after him.” He pinned Jennifer with a glare. “You snake,” he stated. “You found out, and you planned all this with your cousin. You tried to kill him.”

Derek looked at Jennifer.

“Your Majesty—”

“There is no one here to impress!” Peter bellowed at her. “Did you, or did you not, know!”

Derek stared at her. “What is he asking you?”

Jennifer looked at Derek. She scoffed. “You’re a moron. Anyone could see it on him.”

Derek looked at Peter. “What news did he tell you?” He softly asked. He was in denial, as if his hopes for more with Stiles could not be within reach all this time.

“Stiles is pregnant,” Peter gently stated. “He wanted to tell you in person, that’s why I called you back so early.”

Derek drew in a deep breath, turning to lean against the wall.

“He wasn't pregnant when he left,” Jennifer suddenly stated.

Derek curtly turned his gaze towards Jennifer. “What did you do to him?” He deeply growled.

Jennifer remained still, looking at Derek. “He asked for the tea while in the dungeons. The guards brought it to him.”

Derek felt floored, as if his guts were churning. “He wouldn’t …”

“He knew he had lost your favor,” Jennifer answered. “He begged for the tea after you spoke. The council thought it was enough of a punishment if he chose exile afterwards.”

Derek acted swiftly, his movements quick and angered. His hand wrapped around Jennifer’s throat, nothing but rage filling his senses. “Why would I believe you?” He demanded as his grip tightened. “You hated him from the beginning. You hated the joy we had.”

Jennifer grabbed at Derek’s hand, her nails clawing at his skin in an attempt to stop him. But she knew the truth—she couldn’t stop him, not if he wanted her dead. “Derek—”

Derek squeezed harder, determined to not hear her utter another word. His features pinched with anger and grief. “You spun a web in the dark—pulling strings, determined to get rid of him.”

“I know where he is,” Jennifer struggled.

“I don’t believe you,” Derek angrily snapped. Guilt twisted in his stomach, remembering how Stiles had refused to look at him—with hope, thinking that Derek would defend him as he always had, only to be crushed by reality. “He was the only thing I had left,” he forcefully uttered as he struggled with himself.

“Derek,” Peter called his nephew’s name with a gentle tone. “Let her go.”

Derek hesitated, wanting to ignore his uncle’s logical stance.

“She’ll pay for it,” Peter offered. “There is to be a war, and I need you not in a cell for murdering your wife without trial.”

Derek finally released Jennifer, shoving her away from him. He took a stumbling step, turning his back towards Peter as he leaned against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the wall, his forearms bracing his weight as he staggered some.

Peter looked at Derek’s back for a moment to determine if he would be alright for the time being. He chose to address Jennifer when he saw the soft shakiness in Derek’s shoulders with every breath he took. “Either you, or your cousin tried to kill me,” he simply stated. “Or, you tried to kill Stiles, and in doing so would have killed my great-nephew.”

Jennifer’s brow crinkled, unsure where Peter was going with this.

“You’ll have plenty of time to think about what happened, and what you’re prepared to tell me while you’re in the cells,” Peter plainly stated. “I’ll be conversing with the Marquis on his terms for battle. I’d choose all your next words very carefully, Jennifer. They could likely be your last.”

~*~

Stiles slowly walked along the pathway that led through the town square. He pressed a supportive hand beneath the large swell of his belly, gently rubbing the spot where his child kicked. He was exhausted, his coin nearly depleted. He still had a few items he could barter for more coin, despite his desire to keep them.

Months. Months of traveling by land on foot. And all he could do was hope he reached the end.

Stiles knew he was in the right village, but he doubted anyone would help him when they all took a wide berth from him. He was smart enough to know villagers often avoided newcomers out of superstition that they brought turmoil to their small lives. He made his way to the tavern at the crossroads, needing to rest before he tried moving on.

Stiles wasn’t certain, but he assumed he had at least a month before the baby arrived. It would make things more difficult in moving mostly unseen. He would have to redouble his efforts, moving at a much slower pace.

Stiles looked around the tavern for a moment before heading directly for the empty table in the corner. He sighed at the relief his feet felt now that he was sitting. He shifted his weight to ease the pain in his lower back. He did his best to keep his small scarf wrapped around his head, trying to cover his features as much as possible.

He startled when a cup was set in front of him. He looked at the person who did it. He was surprised to find a young woman with long, blonde and curly, hair standing in front of him.

The woman gestured her head to the cup. “Water,” she informed him. “You look like you need it.”

Stiles looked at the cup before taking it. He uttered a soft thank you before nearly draining it. He struggled to prevent himself from sputtering.

“When was the last time you ate?” The woman asked.

Stiles looked up at her. He had some salted meat the other day, but it had been a while since he ate a full meal. He shrugged his shoulders instead.

“Stay there,” the woman sighed as she went back to the barkeep.

Stiles watched as she went behind the table to retrieve a bowl of stew from the cauldron over the fire. He was surprised when she came back and placed it on the table in front of him. “How much?” He asked, unsure he would even be able to afford it and a place to stay.

“Consider it a welcome,” the woman offered. “I have an open cot here too if you need it,” she added, placing her hands on her hips when Stiles started to shake his head. “Have another place to stay?” She nearly demanded.

Stiles stared at her. “I understand the pity—”

“Pity?” The woman incredulously asked. “It’s not pity, it’s my good nature,” she plainly stated. “As far as I know, you’re fleeing some abusive bastard who left you in your current state.”

Stiles frowned.

“There is a midwife in town,” she offered with a purse of her lips. “You should see her before you think of going anywhere else. There are bandits and slavers throughout the plains, so it’s dangerous to even think of journeying there.”

Stiles looked at her. “Why are you helping me?”

The woman shrugged. “There is something else to you,” she explained. “And I’m curious.”

Stiles released a faint laugh. “Alright.”

She smiled a toothy grin at him. “I’m Erica, by the way.”

“Stiles,” he offered.

“Nice to meet you,” Erica greeted him. “The midwife’s name is Melissa. I can take you there once you finish that. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

~*~

“You’re almost due,” Melissa stated as she pulled back from Stiles.

Stiles frowned at that. “I thought I had a little while longer,” he bashfully admitted his miscalculation.

“You’ve been traveling this whole time, haven’t you?” Melissa questioned.

Stiles sighed. “I’m trying to find someone,” he offered.

Melissa looked skeptical. “I don’t know who you’re trying to find, but you won’t find them if you’re dead.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “I don’t have the money for more than this,” he replied. “I came from the docks—”

“The docks?” Erica incredulously asked. “You walked  _ from the docks _ ?” Her voice raised a few octaves. “That’s more than a month’s journey, even with a horse.”

Stiles nodded. “It took me a while to find information, but I believe I’m in the right area,” he started to explain. “I’m looking for … for a soldier who was in the Marquis’ guard. Before the ransacking.”

Melissa looked doubtful. “There aren’t many people who survived that,” she replied.

“I know,” Stiles nearly snapped. He pressed a hand to his pinched brow, hoping he’d avoid a headache. He wanted to sleep—he couldn’t recall the last time he slept soundly.

Stiles had been on the run practically since the guard released him from the cells.

He was glad the guard was stupid enough to believe he had begun drinking the tea before leaving. He spit out what he could, sticking his finger down his throat to retch the last remaining bit from his stomach. He wanted to be sure he had gotten rid of it all, determined to keep his baby.

The long walk to the docks was depressing. Stiles trudged along beside the guard, seeing the small chest that had been packed for him. He hoped at least some of his belongings were inside. He was shocked when a bag of gold had been given to him, a parting bribe to keep him away. He wrapped the bag up under his side, hidden beneath Derek’s cloak.

The ship voyage took nearly a month.

Stiles was sick from the constant motion, his body feeling strung tight and queasy at the basic thought of eating anything. He was lucky the captain of the ship was kind enough to tolerate his presence and protect him from other occupants.

The captain gave Stiles some information on where to find anyone who knew what happened to the Marquis’ guard during the ransacking. Though it was little to go off of, it was more than Stiles had to begin with.

“What about—” Erica started before stopping herself when Melissa shot her a look.

Stiles looked up at Erica, pulled from his thoughts. “What?” He softly asked, looking from Melissa to Erica.

Melissa released a haggard sigh, narrowing a glare at Erica before turning to address Stiles. “There is someone who might know something,” she cryptically offered. “I’ll ask him for you.”

“Can I not speak with him?” Stiles questioned.

“No,” Melissa curtly answered. “He’s … he doesn’t want visitors, especially ones asking about the Citadel. He’s had enough heartbreak.”

Stiles frowned at that. “I understand,” he softly accepted.

Melissa nodded, turning to look for some scrap parchment and ink to jot down all Stiles had to tell her. “I’m guessing Stiles is a nickname?” She began as she settled in to write.

“Yes,” Stiles offered. “I took it from my last name—my mother named me Mieczysław,” he let his accent pop as he spoke his name aloud for the first time in decades.

Erica faintly smiled. “Sounds like mischief,” she commented.

Stiles smiled at her. “My parents called me their little mischief.”

“What were their names?” Melissa suddenly demanded as she turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles was unsettled by the intensity of Melissa’s gaze.

“What were your parents’ names?” Melissa pressed.

“Claudia and John,” Stiles replied. “My mother was a lady in the Marquis’ court, my father was the captain of the guard,” he offered when Melissa just stared at him.

“Wait, wasn’t that the name of ...” Erica softly started to ask before her words died off.

Stiles looked between the two women, puzzled to know more.

“By the gods,” Melissa released a shaky breath.

~*~

Derek stared at the ceiling, unmoving when the light had started to shine in through the balcony. He turned his head to the side, looking at Stiles’ vanity—a few things still decorating the top of the piece of furniture. He couldn’t bring himself to have it removed. He gazed at the necklace resting on the vanity, around the vase as Stiles had always displayed it.

He closed his eyes, lulling his head back to rest against the floor.

Another sleepless night spent waiting.

Derek had sent out more scouts to find a trace of Stiles, finding himself hitting deadends when citizens realized who he was. No one wanted to tell him anything, feared they’d anger him.

It was nauseating.

“You slept on the floor again?” Peter questioned when he walked in to find Derek laying near the foot of the bed.

Derek was restless in the bed, finding himself better suited to laying on the floor, it brought him thoughts of time spent in a tent in the barracks.

“Go away,” Derek replied, keeping his eyes shut.

“I’m putting an end to your depressing mood,” Peter replied, as if Derek was a petulant child refusing to do as asked.

“The only person I ever loved was shipped across the sea thinking I hated him, after forcing himself to abort our child,” Derek snapped at Peter, opening his eyes to look at him. “Leave me alone, Peter.”

“And laying here isn’t going to change that,” Peter remarked. “I regret what happened with Stiles,” he honestly stated when Derek glared at him. “And I’m sorry you did not get to feel or see the joy he had when telling me about the expectant news,” he broached the subject carefully, his bruised jaw still recovering from the last time he tried to mention it to Derek. “But it has been over six months,” he finally pressed. “You know I support your pursuit to find him, evident in the resources I’ve given you. But you need to do more than just lay here.”

Derek looked up at the ceiling again.

“War is coming Derek,” Peter replied, producing the parchment—the reason he came to speak with Derek in the first place. “Executing your wife came with consequences.”

Derek wasn’t sure what he felt when he visited Jennifer in the cells. He stayed far away from the bars, refusing to enter the cell and speak with her. He listened to her pale attempts to apologize, unable to find himself sympathetic to her plight.

_ You did this to us. You just couldn’t let go of what she did to you. You poisoned us. _

Part of Derek understood Jennifer’s words. But he couldn’t speak in her favor when the council decided her fate—a clean and quick beheading fit for a royal who schemed to harm his Imperial Majesty.

Derek had been thankful no one mentioned Stiles or the child.

All it took was Peter’s royal decree, and her execution was finalized. The Marquis refused to return even Jennifer’s pleading letter.

And now, Derek was spouseless, leading more than half the known socialites clambering to get a chance to meet with Peter about an alliance. Derek was grateful Peter declined them all.

War with the Marquis meant a bloody battle that would last years, with thousands of deaths. And Derek wasn’t sure they would make it out unscathed.

“You want me to go to the fronts,” Derek hollowly stated as he moved to sit up. He turned his head to look at Peter. “For what? For peace? I don’t feel like fighting for peace,” he bitterly uttered.

Peter’s features grew a bit grim. “No. We’re well past peace now, Derek.”

Derek faintly nodded as he stood up. “Let it be fear, then,” he gruffly stated, passing by Peter.

Peter grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him for a moment. “You’re a good man,” he stated. “Don’t forget that.”

Derek hollowly looked at Peter. “I want the Marquis cowering in front of me before I tear his throat out with my bare hands,” he emotionlessly stated. “I don’t think a good man would want that.”

“A grieving man would,” Peter firmly stated, his voice even and collected. As if he had spoke from experience.

Derek swallowed down the lump of anger building, looking away from Peter. “I want to be able to look for him, while I’m there,” he finally stated.

“Whatever you need,” Peter simply offered. “Keep yourself and our troops alive and winning, and you can search all you want.”

~*~

“I don’t want to talk about it again, Melissa,” John softly confessed as he reached a hand out for his cup of tea.

“John, you’ll want to speak to him,” Melissa pressed, a soft edge to her voice. She knew what it meant for John to try opening up again.

“Do you have any idea how long I looked?” John finally asked, tightening his hold on his cup. He shook his head, weakly stating, “My heart can’t take it anymore, Melissa.”

Melissa frowned. “He said his name was Mieczysław,” she gently uttered, watching John’s features for his reaction.

John’s brow furrowed, as if he was trying to fight back his rush of emotions. He abruptly put his tea down. “I can’t tell you what he would look like,” he finally stated.

“He said his mother’s name was Claudia,” Melissa replied. “That she was a lady in the Marquis’ court.”

John unsteadily placed a shaking hand to the table. “You’re sure?” His voice was small and fragile, afraid of being told it was a lie.

“Yes,” Melissa replied. “John, I’m sure he’s your son.” She delicately placed her hand on John’s, hoping to ground him. “Do you want me to bring him in?”

“No,” John uttered. “I’ll meet him.”

Melissa hesitated before releasing a soft sigh of relief. She stood, offering her arm to John as she had done a hundred times before. She waited for John to stand and take her offered arm before making her way towards the door.

Stiles was sitting on the small stump by the road, looking up at Erica as she spoke to him. He faintly smiled at her tale of how she came to own the tavern, finding it amusing that she won it through a lucky hand in a card game of chance. He turned his head to look at the house when he heard the door open. He accepted Erica’s help to stand, quickly brushing his robes to make them look the most presentable they could be straightened into. He wished he could have been more presentable, offering something distinguished to present the man that could possibly be his father.

Stiles held his breath when he saw that Melissa was escorting a man out of the house. He took a few steps towards the small path leading up to the house. His stomach tightened into knots as he took in the appearance of the man beside Melissa.

The man looked a bit older than he thought his father would, but he wasn’t certain how old his father would even be—twenty years was a long time. His hair was greying, evident mostly in the short hair of his beard. He looked the same though, beneath the exhaustion and wariness Stiles could see the same features he spent years dreaming about seeing again.

John’s eyes wandered, aimlessly searching the road before him.

Stiles’ stomach churned when he realized why John wouldn’t look directly at him.

There were scars around his eyes, old wounds that healed years after. But they were unmistakably the cause of the cloudiness Stiles saw in his irises.

John was blind.

Stiles suddenly understood why Melissa had been so protective of him—to stop swindlers from trying to manipulate him with any story of hope to regain what was lost at the Citadel.

“Is he there?” John suddenly asked when no one spoke. “You all seem to forget I can’t tell with silence,” he sarcastically commented.

“I’m here,” Stiles spoke before Melissa could.

John seemed surprised, his head turning towards him.

“I know that my claims … don’t hold any weight, but … just knowing,” Stiles’ voice cracked as he placed a hand over his mouth, trying to compose himself enough to stop the tears. He wished the headache he had for days would leave him, knowing it wasn’t helping his emotions. It just seemed to grow worse with every passing second. “Just knowing you’re alive,” he offered. He swayed on his feet some.

“Stiles, you should sit,” Erica instructed him, reaching an arm out to steady him.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, his voice pinched with concern.

“He’s with child,” Melissa gently explained to John. “He traveled here from the docks in Murachi,” she added.

“Murachi?” John incredulously asked, his brow furrowing. “That would have taken—” he shook his head. “Come inside,” he prompted with a wave of his hand. He started to turn, forcing Melissa to come with him, despite her being his eyes.

Melissa startled, moving beside him. “John—”

“I have nothing of value, Melissa,” John forcefully stated. He continued in a hushed tone, “I doubt he came all this way, heavily pregnant, for a chance to rob an old blind man.”

Melissa’s features softened some. “You didn’t even talk to him.”

“He sounded sincere,” John simply said. “And … even if he’s not my Mieczysław … he needs someone.”

Stiles was hesitant to go inside John’s house, until Erica began escorting him. He felt as if he was taking advantage, unsure what John truly thought of him.

~*~

Stiles woke in the middle of the evening. He was resting on a hay cot in the corner of a room. He was confused for a moment before remembering where he was. He sat up, taking his time to be careful in his movements. He looked at the room around it, seeing that it was a small corner room with a single window. He noticed there was a small candle lit by the window to illuminate the room around him.

“I’ve brought his things,” Erica’s voice explained. “It’s a small chest, won’t take up much room.”

“I’m not worried about that,” John answered. “It’s his choice if he wants to stay.”

There was a small sound of something being set down—Stiles assumed it was his traveling chest.

“I’ll be back by tomorrow with your usual,” Erica offered.

“Thank you,” John replied. “Maybe add a little more, just in case he stays,” he added as an afterthought.

“Sure,” Erica answered with a small smile.

Stiles waited for Erica to leave before he left the room. He slowly walked down the hallway to where he assumed John was from the lit candle. He paused at the doorway, lingering with a smile when he saw John sitting at the table.

“Thank you,” Stiles softly stated.

John turned his head towards Stiles’ voice. “Nothing to thank me for,” he replied.

“You took a stranger in,” Stiles countered.

“I thought you were my son?” John questioned.

Stiles frowned. “I hope so,” he weakly replied.

John reached his hand out, gesturing towards the chair beside him. “Please, sit.”

Stiles moved with care, slowly sitting down with ease.

“Melissa said you’re due soon,” John started as he set his tea cup down.

Stiles’ features pinched some. “Yes,” he replied. “I have some coin saved to pay a healer—”

“Melissa said she’ll take care of you,” John quickly stated. “You don’t want a moron healer claiming to know what they’re doing when a midwife should be called instead.”

Stiles released a faint sigh.

“Might seem like a strange question,” John started, his mouth pursing a bit as he considered his words. “But, can you describe yourself to me?”

Stiles looked at John for a second, unsure what he should say. “Um, sure,” he finally replied. “I’m roughly the same height as you,” he started easy, unsure how he could describe himself in terms not meant for a client. “I have brown hair and eyes—some people say they look golden.” He felt a bit more confident when he saw the small smile on John’s lips. “Mom had golden brown eyes, too.”

John was silent for a beat. “She did.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “I’m pretty pale, considering that I’ve spent decades by the sea.”

John snorted at that. “Pasty noble,” he commented.

Stiles could remember Claudia saying something like that, though he wasn’t sure the context. “I have freckles and moles, too.”

John nodded.

Stiles partially shrugged, “I don’t know what else to say.”

John moved to sit on the edge of his chair. “Do you mind if I … ” he gestured with his hands. “Touch your face?”

Stiles stared at John’s hands, remembering how often he had dreamed of being held by his father again. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sure, you can.” He moved a little closer, unsteady hands taking hold of John’s as he guided the older man’s hands towards his face. He placed John’s hands on his cheeks, allowing John to feel the frame of his face.

John slowly brushed his fingers over the curve of Stiles’ cheek, his thumb to brush a bit higher.

Stiles closer his eyes when John’s hands reached above his eyebrows.

John almost pulled his hand back when he felt the scar he had been looking for.

Stiles had the smallest scar just by the curve of his eyebrow. It was hard to see unless you were looking for it, but the jagged bump was obvious to anyone who touched it. He had it his whole life, unsure when he got it.

“You got that scar when you were four,” John softly spoke, dropping his hands down to cup Stiles’ face. “You fell down the stairs trying to sneak into the ball, after me and your mother.”

Stiles tried to silence his tears.

“You really are Mieczysław,” John stated, a shaky breath leaving him as he spoke. “Gods, I wish I could see your face.”

“I wish you could too,” Stiles softly released a sob as he held onto John’s arms for support. “But I— I’m just—”

“It’s enough to be with you again,” John offered.

Stiles closed his eyes as he clung to John, unable to describe the tightness suddenly releasing in his chest, as if he could finally breathe after years of fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% realized when I did my read through that Derek totally using a Daenerys Targaryen line ("let it be fear then") ... but like, it worked too well for me to take out. (He's not going to do a character flip and start going insane like what happened in season 8 of GoT ... so ... there is that)  
> Context: Derek is a military figure who is generally feared among the empire's enemies because he's good at his job as a military leader, and he gets results; he's been pulled back out of the fights since the fic began because Peter starting going for peace. He's ready to go back into war mode though after everything Jennifer and her family pulled.
> 
> Next chapter will be a time skip and will reflect on much. Can't wait to share with you!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! I wanted to give you all something to read after those heartbreaking chapters. So I decided to break the last chapter. I have a chunk to still write, but this felt like a decent spot to break it so you could have a bit of entertainment for the weekend. I promise I'll work on getting the last chapter done soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek looked around the room, observing the mess scattered across the otherwise pristine surroundings.

The Citadel’s tower, the rooms belonging to the Marquis and his family were brimming with extravagance. Various silks lined the walls, cushioned furniture turned over in a hurry. Wine and serving trays had been spilled. Gold and jewels were inlaid within the very walls and floor.

Derek felt more comfortable in his armor than he had in a long time, despite the blood and dirt caked on his skin. He knew a lifestyle he had no desire to have, and it was laid bare for him in this room.

“Sir,” a voice addressed Derek.

Derek turned to look at the soldier.

“Should I send word?”

Derek hesitated before nodding. “Tell his Imperial Majesty it’s over—we’ve won.” He wasn’t sure how far away Peter was, but he knew the news couldn’t travel fast enough. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the Citadel.

~*~

Stiles hummed to himself as he pruned more of the leaves from the tulips. He had been surprised when the flowers grew, unsure if the weather would be too much for their own personal garden to flourish. He had been surprised by a lot when arriving in the village—Beacon, they called it. Finding his father and a home in Beacon were at the top of his list as surprising.

“She snuck away from me again,” John’s voice stated as he stood at the house’s door leading into the garden.

Stiles turned his head to look at his father, about to ask where they were when he saw a peak of brown curls wobbling behind the lilies. He released a soft laugh as he stood up. “She’s right ahead of you, trying to get around the flower beds,” he stated with amusement as he walked around the lilies. He smiled when he saw her clutching onto the edge of the table, her little legs wobbling some as she tried to figure out how to move forward without letting go of her leverage.

“Come here you little rascal,” Stiles softly uttered with a smile on his lips as he bent down to pick her up.

Natalia giggled with sheer delight when Stiles picked her up. Her arms and legs wiggled with joy. “Dada! Da,” she elongated her vowels, singing out the words.

“It’s like she knows I can’t find her when she’s quiet,” John uttered when he heard Stiles moving closer to him.

“She’s sneaky,” Stiles answered as he looked at his daughter. “Aren’t you? You’re trying to trick grandpa.”

“Gapa!” Natalia loudly stated back to Stiles as she gestured at John. “Ga! Pa!”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Stiles smiled when John shook his head.

Natalia smooshed her face against Stiles’ shoulder as she laughed with her mouth open in a yawn. “Dada,” she mumbled against Stiles’ collarbone, her hand making grabbing gestures at his shirt.

“She’s tired,” Stiles stated as he watched his father moving to sit down at the table.

“She’s tired? What about me?” John mused as he sat down in a chair. “I’m an old man.”

Stiles tried to smile some, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He wished he didn’t feel guilty for forcing this on his father.

John turned his head to where he knew Stiles was standing. “Stop that,” he suddenly stated. “I can hear that brain of yours thinking.”

Stiles was surprised whenever his father did that.

“And that wasn’t what I meant to imply,” John offered as he relaxed in his chair.

“I know,” Stiles stated in a small voice. He looked at Natalia, smiling when she yawned again, fighting to keep her eyes open as her head slowly came to rest against his shoulder again.

Stiles remembered having collapsed the day Natalia was born. He was nauseous and dizzy, thinking it was another hunger pang when he suddenly lost his balance and fell. The crash was loud enough to wake John in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t forget the way his father yelled for someone to go fetch Melissa.

In that moment, part of Stiles couldn’t help but think what it would have been like had he still been with Derek. Would it have been painless? Would it have been easier?

“I’ll cut the flowers, you put her to sleep,” John offered, his voice pulling Stiles from his thoughts. “I can manage to wrangle some flowers.”

Stiles smiled at that.

The summer solstice was arriving faster than anyone had been prepared for, and Stiles’ flowers were surprisingly popular. He experimented with what he knew, trying to get flowers to grow in the harsher climate. And when he did, a trade started to develop—it brought in enough coin to help keep them comfortable now that Natalia was here.

Stiles worked with his father to create a layout of the garden that John could traverse as well. And now they had a luscious garden filled with a variety of flowers, and even some herbs, many in the village hadn’t seen before.

Natalia yawned against, fussing some against Stiles.

Stiles held her a bit tighter, unable to stop himself from thinking about Derek. He wondered what he was doing now—if Derek still thought of him from time to time. He wished he had been able to speak with Derek before departing. He hadn’t heard the news of Jennifer’s execution until a month after Natalia was born.

News didn’t travel to their corner of the world very often. It was why Stiles strived to keep saving coin, hoping to one day have enough to reach out and let Derek know he was alive.

That their daughter was alive.

~*~

Derek leaned against the gilded pillar, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his uncle turn about the room to observe it.

“I can’t say I’ve ever actually been here,” Peter stated with a puzzled tone. “I’ve thought about it on the way up, and I don’t think I’ve actually seen it before.” He frowned some. “Peculiar.”

“And now you own it,” Derek answered, a disinterest in his words.

Derek had a few days before Peter had arrived. He spent them listening to casualties, and reworking supplies to help those displaced by the Marquis’ fall. He saw how uncaring the masses appeared at hearing the news that the Marquis had fallen—Derek afforded it to the way the man lived off breaking the backs of his people. He tried to visit the sick and injured, annoyed when Peter’s page summoned him.

Derek had changed out of his armor after taking the Citadel. He now wished he was back in it, something to do laid out before him instead of waiting for Peter to divy up the rewards.

“Don’t you like it?” Peter sarcastically asked.

“Not a place I feel at home,” Derek confessed to Peter with a shrug of his shoulders.

“No, and why would you? We’re nothing like them,” Peter reasoned. “We don’t burn houses down with families inside,” he sharply stated. “Or poison them with false gifts.”

Derek’s eyes tracked Peter as he walked about the room. He looked down at his hands, aimlessly picking at the absent dirt beneath his nails. “Now what?” He asked, his voice tired as he looked at Peter. “There is no opposition left.”

Peter nodded. “Now we figure out the next course,” he replied as he looked at Derek. “I don’t know what to do with this infernal Citadel. Nor with those displaced.”

Derek scoffed. “I’m glad to have won you an outcome you are speechless about.”

Peter snorted, “I could put you in charge.”

Derek’s gaze narrowed into a glare. “That’s not funny.”

“Why not?” Peter countered. “I can trust you.”

“You can trust Lydia, but I don’t see you making her Marquis,” Derek snapped.

“Marquess,” Peter corrected Derek. “You would fit right in, I’m sure—”

“Peter!”

“Alright!” Peter placed his hands up in a placating manner.

Derek turned his back on Peter, ready to walk out of the room.

Peter sighed at Derek’s clearly petulant mood. “You haven’t heard anything new, have you?” He decidedly asked, deducing what truly perplexed Derek.

Derek released a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “How long has it been, Peter?” He turned to the side, looking over his shoulder at his uncle. “It’s been over a year, and I’ve heard nothing,” he continued when Peter didn’t answer him. “I’ve gone to war and tore apart our borders—I’ve killed more men than I can count, and I still know  _ nothing _ ,” he angrily snapped, kicking one of the chairs to the side.

Peter sighed. “And there is nothing to be done about that,” he answered. “Even if you could find where he went after Murachi, it would be like finding a particular grain of sand in a dune.”

Derek closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back some.

Peter was silent for a moment. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to let you go on a wild chase?”

Derek met Peter’s questions with silence.

“There are no more wars for me to start, Derek,” Peter finally stated. “There won’t be any more battles for you to throw yourself into—for a while, at least. You need to make up your mind on what you plan to do.”

Derek shook his head. “It sure as all hell isn’t going to be playing dress up with nobles,” he answered as he turned to leave the room. “I’m not marrying again, Peter,” he added in finality, not waiting to hear Peter’s answer as he started to descend the steps of the tower.

Peter rolled his eyes. “After your first marriage, I wasn’t going to ask,” he announced to himself.

~*~

Stiles tore up the parchment in anger, his stomach twisting from the words written. He huffed out in annoyance as he cast the torn pieces into the fire to be forgotten. He startled when he saw his father standing behind him. “Dad,” he softly uttered.

“What was that about?” John questioned, having heard Stiles tearing parchment with great determination.

“It’s … an old acquaintance,” Stiles hesitantly answered.

John’s eyebrows slowly started to rise, arching in question.

Stiles sighed. “I didn’t … you don’t know some things,” he offered. “About my life, and what I did.”

John frowned some. “Did you kill people?”

“No,” Stiles replied.

John pursed his lips some. “I don’t understand,” he finally stated.

Stiles drew in an unsteady breath. He looked down the hallway to Natalia’s room, hoping she would cry out and save him from this conversation. He swallowed the lump in his throat when she didn’t. “I … I entertained people,” he finally stated.

“A performer?” John questioned.

“No,” Stiles replied.

“For gods’ sake, Stiles, spit it out,” John abruptly demanded.

“I was a courtesan,” Stiles finally stated. He pressed on, “A concubine, of sorts. I had a teacher, and he picked patrons for me—I would live with them, as a kept lover. I did what they wanted, and they gave me gifts and payment in return.” He drew in an unsteady breath, trying to keep from crying. “The last patron I had was Natalia’s father.”

John released a breath as he took a few moments to digest what Stiles just said. “Alright,” he offered, knowing Stiles was likely freaking out the longer he took to speak. “What did that acquaintance want?”

Stiles nibbled on his bottom lip. “Made me an offer,” he admitted. “Contingent that I’m exclusive … no attachments.”

John’s brow pinched in confusion. “Attachments meaning … Natalia?”

Stiles released an aggravated sigh. “They’ve always seen me as an object to own,” he started to explain. “They want to brag that they have me. And having a child isn’t … that’s not something my clients want from me.”

John was quiet for a moment. “And Natalia’s father?”

Stiles looked at John.

“Did he not want that?”

Stiles believed John deserved the truth, but it hurt too much to even think about reliving it. “No … Derek was different,” he answered. “He didn’t know I was pregnant when I left.”

John sighed, moving to take a seat at the table. “I think you better explain some things to me, kiddo.”

~*~

Derek sat on the furs by the small fire, keeping himself lounging at a warm distance away as he read through another report. He leaned against the small chest that had been left by his bed, knowing it contained various things he had shipped from the palace—one of the items being his mother’s necklace, wrapped up securely in one of Stiles’ forgotten robes. He crumpled up the report that detailed the various requests for an alliance through marriage. He tossed the crumpled up ball into the fire, ignoring it as it burned into ash.

“Can we talk?” Peter’s voice addressed the quiet room.

Derek didn’t look at his uncle as he turned to his next report. “About what?” He asked in an uninterested tone. He finally looked at Peter when his uncle didn’t respond. He realized Peter wasn’t looking at him, but at his body.

Derek had a loose robe on, one that showed his chest and arms—a significant amount of his scars on display.

Peter’s brow pinched as he looked at the various scars. “You never told me,” he suddenly stated.

Derek set the reports down, growing self conscious of his body the longer Peter’s stare lingered. “You never asked,” he chose to answer.

Peter looked up at Derek’s face. “You don’t think I cared?”

“I think you needed your wars won, regardless,” Derek evenly stated. “These are nothing compared to what the soldiers go through,” he shook his head at the bitterness tightening in his chest. “I’m still alive.”

Peter closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. “I wanted to talk about what happened during the siege,” he stated. “The prisoners talk,” he added.

Derek looked away from Peter.

“Did you kill Countess de Dupont and her son after they surrendered?” Peter pointedly asked.

Derek knew he looked like a common soldier when fighting. His armor was in better condition than most, but there was little to distinguish him from the others. He had no grandeur on his armor—only a helmet that made him easier to spot for his men. He wasn’t sure what happened to the helmet when he entered the Citadel, losing it in the fray before he even made it inside. He remembered, though, how the Countess cowered and threw her servant towards him. He helped the trembling girl stand before sending her out with one of his men to get her to safety.

“Define surrendered,” Derek hollowly stated.

Peter shook his head. “You killed them,” he answered his own question.

“I killed her son,” Derek corrected him with an annoyed tone. “She threw herself from the window in hysterics.”

“You killed him because … ”

Derek wanted to say because the man didn’t deserve to live. He thought of Stiles, and the justice he saw fit. A sword was much harder to wield precisely than a carving knife. “He couldn’t even remember her name,” he finally stated.

It was blind rage that swayed Derek’s hand. Hearing the Count speak such bumbling words when asked about Heather only added to Derek’s anger. “He called her Helen,” he added, finally looking at Peter. “Called her ‘his whore’ and said she tried to keep the baby,” he released a shaky laugh. “He begged to have her executed, because he didn’t want to have a bastard,” he looked at Peter through watery eyes. “He thought it was easier to excuse killing a prostitute than it was in killing his child—superstitious, he said.”

“So you brought the justice scale to balance by killing him,” Peter concluded.

Derek shrugged. “I cut his balls off and in the process also his cock,” he looked at Peter. “He bled to death.”

Peter leaned his head to the side, his eyes looking up at the ceiling as he thought about it. “I suppose that’s fitting,” he quietly mused. He looked back at Derek. “Not as bad as I thought, and quite understandable,” he commented as he moved closer, sitting on the floor next to Derek.

“You were trying to see if I’ve finally lost it to bloodlust,” Derek reasoned as he looked at the fire.

“Yes,” Peter simply stated. “I also had some pleasant news,” he added as an afterthought. “I spoke with the Marquis, and he offered information to me.”

“Tell me you won’t spare him,” Derek forcefully uttered.

“Oh, I stopped the torture,” Peter replied. “He will have a trial and whatever the judgement that is passed will be agreed to.”

Derek scoffed. “And what knowledge is worth so much?”

Peter looked down at the confession that had been signed by the Marquis. “I asked him about the night of the Citadel’s ransacking,” he started. “Among other things.”

Derek waited for Peter to continue, turning his head to look at the parchment in his uncle’s hands.

“He confessed to allowing the Argents to set the fire. It was some sort of ploy to victimize himself and appear more sympathetic to his people—and to open us up as allies I suppose, enriching his pockets as he fed information to the Argents,” Peter summarized. “He also admitted that some of his guards survived.”

Derek turned to face Peter.

Peter was already looking at Derek. “You asked me, a few months after Stiles was with us, about the Citadel guards,” he started. “It was for Stiles, wasn’t it?”

Derek looked at the parchment. “Stiles said his father was the Captain of the Marquis’ guard,” he offered.

Peter looked down at the parchment, his eyes scanning for the name of the Captain. He paused when he saw it. “Johnathan Stilinski, Captain of the Citadel, married to Lady Claudia de Rune,” he read. “One son named Mieczysław.” He looked at Derek. “Fortunately that is a unique name.”

“You think what?” Derek incredulously asked. “That Stiles is going by his birth name?”

“You said you couldn’t find anyone named Stiles,” Peter offered. “And I’m sorry, but Stiles is a very clever person, and would know not to use his name if he believed he was still in danger.”

Derek looked doubtful.

“There is another thing,” Peter started. “Apparently Johnathan survived the ransacking. The Argents took him prisoner at the Marquis’ request—tortured him until he was blind.”

Derek’s brow creased. “Why?”

Peter laughed. “Apparently Stilinski men are good at getting under the skin of nobles,” he offered. “Johnathan knew the Marquis was doing corrupt things, and married above his station, much to the dislike of the Marquis.”

“Petty asshole,” Derek muttered under his breath.

Peter hummed in agreement.

“But it is something,” Derek stated as he looked at Peter. “Thank you.”

Peter nodded. “It could help you find something.”

~*~

Stiles was busy delivering the various floral and herbal orders he had throughout the village.

Natalia was secured in the small sac Stiles had made to keep her latched to his back as he walked. She was excited to see everyone, smiling and laughing whenever someone greeted her.

Stiles smiled when Natalia tickled his ear with one of the flowers he let her hold. He reached an arm back to tickle her foot in response, laughing at her high-pitched giggle. He was startled when Erica pulled him aside to tell him the news. He blinked at her, as if he couldn’t understand the words she spoke.

Erica’s brow furrowed when Stiles didn’t respond. “Did you not hear me? The war is over!”

Stiles broke himself out of his stupor. “That’s good,” he offered. “What happened?”

Erica was the source of all news coming in and out of Beacon. Stiles had been too afraid to ask her about the war, and what was happening. But now he had a chance of knowing.

“The Citadel fell to the Empire,” Erica stated as she waved to a passerby. “The Marquis is the Emperor’s prisoner, and the Citadel is being given back to the people instead of the court.”

Stiles looked at her in confusion. “How?”

“The Emperor is staying and trying to negotiate peace between the classes. The nobles are getting tried for their crimes, and the list grows by the day,” Erica excitedly stated. “The gap is swallowing them up. We’re going to be able to breathe a little now.”

Stiles pursed his lips some. “How did they win?” He pressed, wanting to know if Derek had been there—knowing in his heart that Derek would be.

“General Hale led the attack,” Erica explained. “They said he cut through them like they were nothing.” She shivered a bit. “I would never want to meet that man.”

Stiles frowned at that. “He’s not a bad man,” he suddenly stated.

Erica looked at Stiles in surprise. “And you know this, how?”

Stiles was cursing himself and his mouth. “I … I met him,” he offered.

“Anyone can seem nice by just meeting them,” Erica reasoned. “It takes a dark man to wade through that carnage and come out unscathed.”

That was it though—Derek carried that weight with him, even in the time Stiles knew him. It was evident in the way he held himself.

“The Citadel,” Stiles started as he looked back at Erica. “That’s … that’s a way’s off,” he sorrowfully stated.

Erica nodded. “Chances are, some of the soldiers might stop by here, but it’s unlikely,” she explained. “We’re not the closest, nor the most logical stop on the way to Murachi. So no attractive soldiers will be by to break your heart,” she teased.

Stiles nodded, trying to hide his disappointment at the news. He looked back and smiled at Natalia when she tapped the flower petals against his cheek.

For now, it was enough to know that Derek was alive—it had to be.

~*~

Derek read the report in his hand as Triskele continued to trot along at a slow pace. He was thankful he could rely on Triskele to keep pace without risk of falling off. He frowned when he read that no one by the name of Mieczysław had been found during scouting inquiries.

It was over a month since Peter discovered Stiles’ birth name. And now that they were leaving the Citadel, he wasn’t certain it was the desperate clue he needed.

Derek folded the parchment, securing it into the side saddle before returning his attention to the road. He looked at Peter when he felt his uncle staring at him. “What?” He asked as if there was nothing to be curious about.

“I’m sorry there wasn’t more,” Peter commented as he also turned his attention towards the road.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to be found,” Derek replied, a sadness gripping his chest as he thought about Stiles wanting nothing to do with him.

“Perhaps,” Peter stated in agreement. “Or perhaps he is looking for you,” he smiled as he looked at Derek.

Derek snorted, shaking his head some. “Hopeful,” he uttered.

“Your Majesty,” a guard addressed Peter before he could answer Derek.

Peter looked at the guard, slowing his horse to a stop when he noticed the rest of the caravan slowed. “What is it?”

“We’re approaching a valley,” the guard explained. “It may be better to disband, travel around it.”

Peter grimaced. He turned to look around them, as if he could see a better way forward.

“What about to the east?” Derek asked before Peter could come up with a crazed solution. “I actually studied the map,” he retorted before Peter could say anything.

“Our scouts said a village,” the guard informed Derek.

“We could rest,” Peter suggested with a smile on his lips. “An actual bed sounds nice.”

“You’ve lived a life of luxury,” Derek sighed. He pulled on Triskele’s reigns to turn her in the direction Peter gestured. “I suppose we’ll go to this village then,” he offered Peter.

Peter laughed. “I thank you for your sacrifice,” he called after Derek. He looked at the guard. “What village is it?”

“Beacon, your Majesty,” the guard replied.

Peter tried to place the name. “Sounds promising—a beacon of hope.”

~*~

Stiles pulled at his robes, settling them into place around his stomach and hips. He turned to look down at himself, smiling as he decided that it would more than do for the festival. He had been proud of himself for making a small dress from the material for Natalia to wear.

He refashioned the robes Derek had gifted him, the one remaining gift he refused to part with no matter the cost.

Natalia, for her part, squirmed fussily when Stiles attempted to get her into the dress. She babbled and kicked her feet, pursing and blowing air out from between her lips when Stiles tried to talk to her. She was content to play with her doll when Stiles fixed her hair with a ribbon, allowing her curls to hang loose.

Stiles took a length off the bottom of his robes to create a sash for his father to wear, making it evident that they were a family unit.

“We’re going to be matching,” John commented when he allowed Stiles to fix the sash over his shoulder and across his torso, attaching it to his jacket.

“Yes,” Stiles smiled as he finished. “We look adorable,” he commented.

“I’ll take your word for it, kiddo,” John replied.

Stiles picked Natalia up, hugging his daughter to his chest as he offered his other arm to his father. “We’ll be the talk of the festival.”

“That, I have no doubt,” John mused as he took Stiles’ arm.

~*~

Derek was uneasy as he looked around the crowd, many of them staring before figuring out their importance. It would be easy to tell that they were from the Empire, though their exact standing was still a mystery thanks to Peter’s insistence that they travel without bannermen.

“A festival—the summer solstice,” Peter smiled to himself as he took in the sights around them. “I love festivals,” he commented as he looked at Derek.

Derek gave an exasperated sigh. “I almost feel as if you planned this,” he replied.

“Yes, I placed a valley in our way, and had you read the map and choose this village,” Peter dryly answered as he dismounted from his horse the moment they reached the stable’s fence. “All part of my villainous plan to make you enjoy life,” he added as he walked his horse towards the stable owner.

Derek observed their would-be observers, frowning some.

“Uneasy?” Boyd questioned as he came to stand beside Derek and Triskele, having dismounted his horse already.

Derek didn’t look at Boyd as he tried to evaluate their situation. “In a way,” he finally admitted. “Keep an eye on Peter,” he instructed as he looked down at his friend.

“And who is going to guard you?” Boyd countered.

Derek scoffed. “I can handle myself. Peter has a tendency for getting in over his head.”

“I heard that,” Peter loudly replied as he finished paying the stable owner.

“Good,” Derek replied as he dismounted from Triskele. He patted a hand down her mane when she jittered some, calming her down.

“Take good care of that horse,” Peter noted to the stable owner. “Or she’ll trample you to death.”

Derek faintly smirked at the stable owner’s startled look. He walked Triskele into the stable, getting her settled into her own stall. He took his time taking off her equipment. He ignored Peter when his uncle leaned against the stall.

“You’re not going to join me, are you?” Peter gently asked as he looked over the stall’s door.

Derek busied himself with taking Triskele’s bridle out of her mouth, brushing his hand over her nose as she nickered. “I’d rather take care of her,” he offered as an excuse. “I’ll join you later.”

“You mean when the party is over,” Peter knowingly replied.

Derek smiled to himself as he hung up the bridle. “You know me well,” he answered. He paused, looking at Peter for a moment. “I just want to have a moment,” he gently pressed for Peter to accept his reason.

Peter reluctantly nodded his head. “Alright,” he answered. “Take what you need,” he added as he turned to leave the stable.

Derek was grateful for Peter relenting, giving him the space he wanted.

~*~

Stiles held Natalia in a tight embrace, spinning in time with the music. His steps were a little out of practice, but no one in the village would care. He smiled as Natalia laughed with each bounce. His heart felt lighter than it had in months with each of her giggles.

“Stiles,” Erica called to Stiles to get his attention. She waved at him as she hurried through the crowd. She was partially out of breath as she started to tell him the news. “There is someone who wants to meet you.”

Stiles side eyed Erica, a faint smile on his lips before he looked back at Natalia as he slowed their dancing to a stop. “Can’t say that sounds promising,” he softly answered her, looking at his father and Melissa.

“Come on,” Erica pressed, taking hold of his free arm. “Trust me, it’s good—he asked about your flowers.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, moving over to his father and Melissa. “Erica wants me to meet someone interested in my flowers,” he dryly stated.

Melissa smiled as she took Natalia from Stiles. “Sounds ominous,” she stated with a laugh.

Stiles allowed Erica to pull him away, his gaze lingering for a moment to watch as Natalia pawed at Melissa’s jewelry.

“He said that he would like to purchase seeds, even,” Erica explained to Stiles. “He’s got money, people are saying.”

“Oh,” Stiles uttered in relief, thinking for a moment it could have been a worse scenario.

“The village elder is trying to find out who he is,” Erica partially laughed. “He came in with a group of guards and fancy furnishings.”

Stiles clicked his tongue. He had enough of rich men.

“Here he is,” Erica sang out to the village elder to announce Stiles’ arrival.

Stiles turned to look at the man standing beside the elder, a small smile on his lips as he tried to force a pleasant demeanor. He could get a decent amount of coin if he was cheery enough.

The man turned to look at Stiles, his expression falling immediately upon seeing Stiles. “Stiles?” He incredulously asked.

Stiles stumbled to a stop, staring at the man in front of him. “Peter,” he weakly uttered in shock.

~*~

Derek hummed one of the melodies he remembered from his childhood. He couldn’t recall the words, unsure what his mother had sung but the melody stayed with him. He would hum it to clear his head, finding a better peace. He kept to himself as he brushed Triskele’s coat. He faintly smiled, his humming interrupted when Triskele turned to push her face against him.

_ Your horse is a dog _ .

“He was right, you are a big dog,” Derek mused as he continued brushing Triskele’s coat clean.

“You’re still here,” Peter’s voice spoke in a rushed surprise.

Derek briefly turned his head, seeing Peter standing by the stable’s front doors. He looked back at Triskele, “It hasn’t been that long.”

Peter was quiet, as if he had been waiting for Derek to reply.

“Don’t act hurt, I said I’d join you in a bit,” Derek added, using his free hand to move a few strands of Triskele’s mane out of the way as he brushed down her shoulder. “I needed a moment.”

More silence.

“Damn it, Peter,” Derek huffed.

“Derek.”

Derek stopped moving, his hand falling away from Triskele. He turned his head to look back at who spoke his name, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t hearing things.

Stiles stood in the middle of the stables, as if he had appeared out of thin air. He was wearing an altered outfit of the robes Derek had bought him, looking as if he had materialized from Derek’s memories. His hair was disheveled, his breathing fast in pace—as if he rushed to make it to the stables. His cheeks were a rosy-red, his eyes still their ambered shade of brown.

A dream, come to taunt Derek.

Triskele whinied when she saw Stiles.

Stiles took a small step towards Derek before stumbling to a stop, unsure if his sudden swell of affections were welcomed. He tightened his hands into fists as he held himself back.

Derek startled himself out of his stupor, walking around his horse to get closer to Stiles. His trembling hand reached out to touch Stiles, fingers grazing Stiles’ arm.

Stiles released a shaky breath as he touched Derek’s arm in response.

It was a spark.

Both of them reached out and pulled each other into a tight embrace.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, closing his eyes as he pressed his face into Derek’s shoulder.

Derek’s arms tightened around Stiles’ waist, holding Stiles against him. “I … Stiles, I tried to find you.”

Stiles nodded. “I know,” his voice was muffled against Derek’s shoulder. “I know.”

Derek clung to Stiles, cupping the back of Stiles’ head in his hand as he pulled back to look at Stiles.

Stiles looked up at Derek, hands settling on Derek’s arms as he looked him over.

“I never should have—” Derek bit off his words. “Everything I said that day, Stiles—”

“You didn’t mean it,” Stiles replied. “I know you didn’t,” he confirmed. He thought about it for so long, sleepless nights being the result. He forgave Derek long ago, knowing his words at the trial held no true feelings.

“I hurt you,” Derek argued. “I … I made you feel like you had to … ” He bit off his words, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I never wanted to hurt you—”

Stiles gently pressed his fingertips to Derek’s lips to stop his apology. “I don’t blame you,” he answered.

"I looked for you, for so long," Derek confessed.

“I've been trying to save enough to send a letter," Stiles explained. "To tell you the truth—what happened."

"I believe you," Derek stated in a rush. "I've always believed you, and I never should have let there be a moment you thought otherwise."

Stiles happily nodded, relieved to hear Derek speak those words. “I'm so happy to hear you say that. But ... I think you might not know the truth, Derek, about what happened that night I left.”

Derek looked confused by Stiles’ words.

Stiles’ brows furrowed as he dropped his hand down to touch Derek’s chest, just over his heart. “Jennifer wanted me to drink the tea,” he gently stated, looking down at his hand against Derek’s chest. “I didn’t want to, so I tricked her into thinking I did.”

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles, shaking his head. “I don’t … ”

“I didn’t drink the tea,” Stiles firmly stated, looking up at Derek. “I didn’t.”

Derek’s realization started to unfold. He reached a hand to touch Stiles’ chin, lifting his face up to look at him.

“We have a daughter,” Stiles softly stated as he looked at Derek.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles braced Natalia’s weight against his hip, securing her snuggly on his side. He smiled when she made a bumbling sound at her doll.

“Dada,” Natalia exclaimed as she nearly smacked Stiles in the face with her doll. She laughed when Stiles made a slight noise. She leaned in to kiss Stiles’ cheek, where she had smacked the doll’s face into him.

Stiles smiled at her, turning his head to look where he was walking. His stomach twisted with nerves when he realized that Derek and Peter were both watching him—more importantly, they were watching Natalia.

Natalia pressed her face into Stiles’ chest when she saw Derek and Peter.

“She plays shy,” Stiles gently spoke, unsure what to say.

“How like her father,” Peter dryly stated as he leaned to the side in order to see her face. “Hello,” he smiled when Natalia looked at him.

Natalia’s brow scrunched together as a scowl took over her features.

“By the gods,” Peter breathlessly uttered, looking at Derek, “She’s definitely your child.”

Derek glared at Peter.

“See the resemblance?” Peter remarked as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of his chest. “She does have your eyebrows,” he added as he looked at Derek with a smile.

Derek’s features softened some when he saw Stiles’ smile. He sidestepped Peter, getting in front of him to look at Natalia.

Peter rolled his eyes, bemoaning something about acting as an alpha male. He decidedly entered the kitchen to speak with John, giving the three of them time alone.

Natalia peeked at Derek, curious some when he didn’t try to talk to her. She lifted her head, tightening her hold on Stiles despite her shift in mood.

Derek could do little but marvel at her.

Natalia’s hair was a darker shade of brown than Stiles, closer to the dark hair most Hales sported. Her hair hung in loose ringlets, a generous amount of hair for such a young child. Her eyes were brown, a shade very similar to Stiles’ own. And her brow was strong, a judgment settling in a scrunch of thick eyebrows as she stared at Derek, her small lips pursed.

Peter was right, she looked like Derek when he sulked.

“Hey,” Stiles chastised Natalia, using his free hand to tickle her foot.

Natalia giggled, high-pitched and freely as she kicked her feet. She swayed, pressing her face into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles smiled, holding onto her even more tightly. He looked up at Derek, his smile faltering for a moment when he saw the look on Derek’s face. “She just needs a second,” he offered.

Derek shook his head. “It’s not … that,” he forcefully stated. He looked away shaking his head. “I’ve missed a lot,” he gently admitted.

Stiles reached a hand out to hold Derek’s. He instinctively moved closer when Derek didn’t pull back. He hesitated before closing the gap, wrapping his free arm around Derek, pressing into him. “I wish you had been here,” he confessed as he leaned closer to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek, aware of the tight hold of Derek’s arm around his waist. He spoke softly into Derek’s ear, “I missed you—so much.”

Derek pulled Stiles in tighter, conscious of the way Natalia was being sandwiched between them. He looked down at her, catching sight of large brown eyes just staring up at him now. “I missed you too,” he uttered.

~*~

“What are your intentions now?” John finally asked.

Derek looked up at John, his arms secured around Natalia now that she had relented to allowing him to hold her. He kept a firm grip on her, determined to keep her safe in his lap. He noticed that John didn’t speak to him at all, only choosing the moment Peter left to speak with his guard and Stiles saw to the preparation of food. “You want to know if I’ll take her away,” he finally countered as he looked at John.

“Yes,” John plainly answered. “If you’ll break his heart again.”

Derek’s brow crinkled. “I don’t know what you know—”

“Enough to know my son was left to wander across dangerous land while heavily with child,” John curtly cut off Derek’s words. “That he rejects every suitor who comes along because of some blind loyalty to you.”

Derek looked down at Natalia.

Natalia gurgled something inaudible as she looked up at Derek. She faintly smiled, reaching a hand up to offer the empty cup she was playing with.

Derek took the cup from Natalia, trying to keep her distracted with accepting every interaction she initiated. “Did Stiles tell you who I am?” He finally asked.

“Just that you’re wealthy,” John answered. “And I know how that goes—I’ve  _ seen _ how that goes.” He settled into his chair more, a pondering look on his face. “Stiles said you’re a soldier, though. So perhaps you’re not the pampered noble I took you for.”

Silence grew between them.

“What rank are you?” John finally asked.

Derek frowned. “If Stiles didn’t tell you, perhaps he doesn’t want that known.”

John’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What difference could that make?”

“A great deal,” Derek remarked.

John released a frustrated sigh. “This is ridiculous. I know you’re from the empire, there is nothing to be so secretive about.”

Derek shook his head. “I’m the General of the Imperial forces,” he stated with finality. “My mother was the bastard sister of the Emperor,” he continued, knowing John was connecting the dots. “And since my uncle is without his own heir, I’m next in line for the throne.”

John released a heavy, near petulant sigh. “Making my granddaughter next in line after you,” he coldly stated.

Derek held onto Natalia, certain John was about to try and pry her from his arms. “Yes. But she doesn’t have to be.”

The tension in John’s shoulders seemed to ease some.

“Natalia doesn’t have to be a part of … the succession,” Derek chose his words carefully before continuing to explain, “and I would never take her away from Stiles.”

“Despite the fact that if anyone found out who she was, and what connection she had to the emperor, she’d be in direct peril,” John forcefully replied.

“I can’t change that,” Derek replied with equal vehemence. “I wanted to change who I was for a long time—your son made it bearable for me to accept who I was, for the time we were together. And I’d never change that. Just as I’d never change that Natalia is my daughter.”

Natalia looked up at Derek with a faint laughter when she heard her name. “De,” she mumbled as she reached a hand up to touch Derek’s face.

~*~

After sharing a meal, Derek decided he needed a break. He was grateful Stiles asked him to watch Natalia while the others cleaned. He knew Stiles was giving him time with their daughter.

Derek sat outside in the garden, holding Natalia in his lap as he watched her play with her toys. He faintly smiled when she lifted her doll up for him to see.

“Ma,” Natalia exclaimed as she waved the doll again.

Derek gently brushed one of her curls behind her ear, mesmerized by her features. He placed a tender kiss to the side of her head, hands brushing over her hair. He listened to her babbling more, utterly taken with her.

“You look happy,” Peter’s voice announced as he walked into the garden.

Derek ignored Peter, as he kept an eye on Natalia.

Peter smiled down at Derek and Natalia. His gaze turned to look at the sunset, taking in the picturesque view. “You know this isn’t permanent,” he faintly uttered, knowing someone had to break the moment.

Derek wrapped a protective arm around Natalia, holding her against his chest.

“Derek—”

“I know, Peter,” Derek answered, pressing his nose into Natalia’s hair, drawing in a soft breath. “Let me have this,” he begrudgingly stated.

Peter frowned some, gently nodding his head in acceptance.

Natalia crawled out of Derek’s hold, moving towards the flowers. She babbled as she grappled at the small flowerbed, standing up on wobbly legs. “Dada,” she exclaimed as she tried to look around for Stiles. She took unsure side steps to try and get around the flowers. She turned back to look at Derek, laughing some when he reached a hand out for her. She hid her face as she continued to laugh.

“She looks like your mother,” Peter suddenly stated, gaze focused on Natalia.

“You always said I looked more like mother than father,” Derek replied as he moved to stand.

Peter hummed in agreement. “I’m sorry you can’t keep her,” he honestly spoke.

Derek didn’t answer Peter as he moved to pick Natalia up.

Natalia squealed loudly, kicking her legs out as she was lifted into the air, her hands grasping hold of flower stems. She pulled a tulip from the bed, lifting it up high in the air with a giggle.

“There you are,” Stiles softly stated as he entered the garden. He smiled down at Natalia and Derek, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers through Natalia’s curls. He placed a gentle hand on Derek’s arm to steady himself.

~*~

Derek ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to lean back against the side of the stable. He felt heavy, as if his chest was constricting. He didn’t want to leave the small village, despite his conversation with Peter. He was angry—hurt with the notion that he was meant to just let go now that he found Stiles. He had a daughter, one he had mourned as lost—to give him hope now and tear it away seemed fitting for his life.

Derek had to all but tear himself away from the Stilinski house, wanting to stay the night despite the impropriety of it. Despite the fact that he was certain Stiles’ father wanted to castrate him.

Everything Derek wanted was in that house, and it seemed impossible to keep.

Derek released an angry breath as he left the stables, determined to drink if he couldn’t sleep it off. He rounded the corner, startling the hooded figure who was walking around the stables at a stealthy speed. He grabbed the person when they fell backwards, saving them from falling on their ass. “Careful,” he uttered.

Stiles looked up at Derek, surprise on his face as he pulled the hood down.

Derek has a shocked expression on his face. “How did you get here?”

“I walked,” Stiles answered.

Derek’s brain started to connect the dots. “Why? Is something wrong? Is it Natalia?”

“No,” Stiles quickly stated, a warmness spreading through his chest at Derek’s concern for their daughter. “I … I wanted to see you,” he offered, a small blush crossing his cheeks.

Derek faintly smiled as he reached a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

~*~

Derek pressed Stiles back into the side of the stables, his hand moving to pillow Stiles’ head from colliding with the rough sturdiness of the building. His feverishly kissed Stiles, his mouth searching and claiming for what he had longed for during their time apart.

Stiles clung to Derek’s shoulders, his nails digging down into his tunic as his mouth opened into their kisses. He released a shaky breath, the hitch of a moan escaping his lips when Derek’s hands braced at the top of his thighs, hoisting him up. He didn’t care about the way the stable’s wall scraped against his back, too focused on Derek.

Derek settled himself against Stiles, using his own weight as a support to keep Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist. “I’ve missed you,” he panted against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles nodded, his hands cupping Derek’s cheeks as he kissed him again.

Derek turned them, pulling Stiles away from the stables. He lowered them down, kneeling as he deposited Stiles back into the hay pile, faintly smiling when Stiles laughed.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s tunic, pulling him down into another kiss. He guided Derek’s hand down to his trousers, encouraging Derek to undress him. He smirked when he felt Derek’s fingers making quick work of his trousers, his own hands pulling Derek’s pants down.

Derek curled his hands under the curve of Stiles’ ass, tilting Stiles’ hips just right as he pressed them together. He shifted some when he felt the way Stiles’ body was pliant and faintest wet. He slipped his hand down the cleft of Stiles’ ass, pausing when his fingers slipped into Stiles with ease.

Stiles tensed some, a moan catching in his throat as he tightened his hands on Derek’s shoulders. He curved into Derek, pressing his chest into Derek, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“You’re … ” Derek softly uttered.

“I came here with the intention of seducing you,” Stiles smiled, closing his eyes in pleasure when Derek curled his fingers. “I missed you too, you know,” he gently uttered, looking up at Derek as he tightened his hold on Derek’s arms. “I missed you so much, Derek.” His words were cut short by the searing kiss nearly devouring them both.

Stiles released a surprised gasp when Derek pressed into him, yelping partially. “It’s been a while.”

“A while,” Derek remarked.

“I haven’t been having sex with you every day,” Stiles remarked as he gently nipped Derek’s jaw. “And I know you like that,” he softly spoke against Derek’s ear.

Derek’s hand clamped down around Stiles’ neck, tilting his head towards him.

Stiles smirked into their kiss. “You’re a possessive bastard,” he fondly uttered. He whimpered out a moan when Derek thrust particularly hard, biting down harder on Derek’s jaw in retaliation.

“You,” Derek grunted as he wrapped an arm around the small of Stiles’ back, a grip that allowed him to move them together better. “Only with you.”

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together. “I love you,” he spoke in a shaky voice, his breath hitching with every move.

Derek pressed kisses to Stiles’ cheek, his movements slowing some as they both paced themselves. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he spoke against Stiles' jaw, placing a kiss just to his pulsepoint. “So long, Stiles,” he echoed.

Stiles released a somewhat giddy laugh, hands moving to hold Derek’s face, kissing him again.

~*~

Stiles curled around Derek, his arm protectively draped over Derek’s chest. He didn’t want to get up, despite the cold night air. He felt warmer than he had in months with Derek holding him close. He tried not to shiver, despite their clothes only mostly covering them.

“Come with me,” Derek suddenly stated.

A sadness pulled at Stiles’ features. “I can’t,” he uttered, despite his wish to.

“Why?” Derek asked, his voice guarded.

Stiles moved to sit up, looking down at Derek. “I have a life here,” he weakly confessed. “If I uproot Natalia, she’ll never be that little girl again,” he explained with a soft sigh. “She’ll be poked and prodded at the second she enters that Court—she’ll be the bastard of a whore.”

Derek’s expression tightened.

“You know it’s true,” Stiles gently pressed. “She’s free to be herself here—she’s happy here.”

“She’s a baby,” Derek reasonsed. “She’d be happy anywhere.”

“She’s  _ our _ baby,” Stiles replied. “And I want her to be happy and not manipulated for others.”

Derek couldn’t argue with Stiles about that. He felt the same. “And you?” He countered, his brow pinched. “Are you happy here?”

Stiles hesitated, not wanting to hurt Derek’s feelings. “Yes,” he honestly answered. He reached a hand out to touch Derek’s cheek, his fingers tightening down into his palm when Derek’s hand grabbed his wrist. “You know I miss you,” he stated.

Derek looked away from Stiles. “You know I can’t stop being Peter’s nephew,” he uttered. “That I can’t stay here.”

“I know,” Stiles replied. “But you can’t expect me to go back into that life, either,” he reasoned.

Derek gently nodded his head.

Stiles picked the hay from Derek’s hair, a soft smile on his lips.

Derek rhythmically caressed his hand up and down Stiles’ arm, content to keep touching him. “I can’t stay,” he roughly stated once more, distaste evident in his voice.

Stiles’ gesture to reach for the last of the hay straw slowed, as if he was hesitant to admit the truth. “I know,” he weakly answered just as he pulled one last strand away. “But you’ll come back,” he uttered, his voice more hopeful than sure. He looked down at Derek, his brow furrowed.

“I’ll spend more time traveling,” Derek replied. “But I’ll always come back.”

Stiles sadly smiled, nodding his head as he tried to keep his tears back. “Will you remarry?”

Derek’s hands slowed to a stop, looking up at Stiles. “No,” he stated. “Peter can demand it, but … no.”

Stiles released a shaky breath. “A small comfort,” he gently stated as he leaned down to place a lingering kiss to Derek’s lips. He pulled back, moving to get up. He halted when Derek’s arms pulled him back.

“Stay,” Derek urged.

Stiles frowned at that.

“Because you want to,” Derek elaborated.

Stiles reclined himself next to Derek, curling into his side. He placed his head on Derek’s chest, closing his eyes as he listened to Derek’s heartbeat, lulled into a comfort by the man’s heart beating beneath his ear.

~*~

Stiles was gone when Derek woke up.

Derek moved to sit up, releasing a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He turned his head to stare at the rising sun over the horizon, his stomach twisting in various ways.

It was beautiful.

He’d miss it, knowing full-well he’d miss what that horizon held more.

The promise of a life with Stiles and Natalia.

~*~

Derek felt off—awkward now that he was standing torn between who he was and what he wanted. He knew Peter was acting as patient as could be as he took his time with saying goodbye to Stiles and Natalia. But it wasn’t enough—it’d never be enough.

“We’ll be okay,” Stiles offered when Derek didn’t say anything.

“I won’t be gone long—I’d like to come back,” Derek started, his voice a little clipped.

Stiles held his breath, his stomach twisting some. He hesitantly nodded. “If you think that’s best,” he cautiously started. “You’re always welcomed here, Derek.”

Derek took a step into Stiles’ space, drawing him into his embrace. He kissed Natalia’s forehead, conscious of the way she fit against his chest as Stiles held onto her. He leaned close to Stiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips with minor hesitation.

“We have the sun,” Peter’s voice broke the moment.

Derek shot a baleful glance at Peter, anger evident in his eyes.

“Travel safely,” Stiles softly spoke, a sorrow in his tone as he took a step back from Derek. He tightened his hold on Natalia.

Derek begrudgingly pulled himself up onto his horse, settling into the saddle as he looked to Peter. He hesitated, his gaze turning to linger on Stiles and Natalia as he ushered Triskele forward. He looked away, unable to watch as he rode away from what he really wanted.

~*~

Derek pushed Triskele to move a bit faster each time she unexpectedly slowed.

“Triskele,” Derek chastised her when she roughly stopped.

Triskele lifted her head, shaking it up and down as she danced to the side, refusing to move forward and she spun in a circle.

“I think your horse is confused,” Peter commented from his perch on his own horse. He watched as his nephew got Triskele under control.

“She won’t move,” Derek answered as he tried to get her to move again. He gently tapped his stirrup against her side to prompt her forward.

Triskele huffed out a deep breath, stomping her hooves again.

“Oh for the love of the gods,” Peter muttered to himself.

Derek leaned forward, running a hand down her mane. “It’s okay,” he gently prompted her, knowing that the busy village was agitating her more than usual.

Triskele turned, heading back down the road they came from, only halting when Derek pulled on her reins.

Derek looked down the dirt road, still able to make out John’s house even from this distance. He turned in his saddle to look back at Peter.

Peter arched his eyebrows at Derek. He sat back some, his expression pensive as if he was trying to understand something. “I still need a Marquis,” he finally jested, unsure if that was what Derek needed to hear. “Of course, it’d be a more humble title.”

Derek’s gaze narrowed. “What about your _lineage_?”

Peter snorted out a laugh. “I’m not ancient, Derek. If I want an heir, I can get one—easily.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Derek almost snapped.

Peter fondly smiled. “A certain redhead isn’t ready to settle down yet,” he replied. He allowed the silence to linger. “Don’t blame me for keeping you from your happy ending, Derek. I told you—I want you to be happy, regardless of where that is.”

~*~

“You wanted him to ask you to go with him,” John knowingly stated once they were settled back in the house. He held Natalia against his knee, bouncing her some in order to keep her amused.

Stiles quietly wiped his tears away. “He knows I won’t leave. And he wouldn’t ask me to.”

“He wanted to,” John honestly replied. “I may be blind, but that boy is telling.”

Stiles sniffled some. “He has a duty to his empire—to his uncle.”

“His uncle seems fond of you,” John reasoned. “I think he’d allow it.”

“You ripped him apart and now you want me to go with him?” Stiles incredulously demanded.

“I ripped him apart because I wanted to know what kind of man he was,” John answered. “Because I thought he used and abused my son. I didn’t realize he loved you.”

Stiles drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I can’t go back to that lifestyle, dad. He deserves someone who is pious and beloved, and proper. That’s not me—that’s not someone I can be. He’s … he’s better without me.”

“That’s a lie.”

Stiles startled, turning to look at the door where the voice spoke. He was shocked to see Derek standing there. “What are you— you’re leaving,” he reasoned.

“Triskele insisted I turn around,” Derek uttered, taking slow steps into the house—closer to Stiles. “She nearly threw me off.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. He ran his hand through his hair. “Derek, you can’t stay. I know that.”

“I can,” Derek replied as he closed the gap between them. He gently placed his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, drawing him in close.

Stiles willingly stepped into Derek’s space, his trembling hands grabbing onto Derek’s arms. “Don’t— don’t promise that.”

“Stiles,” Derek gently spoke, his finger brushing Stiles’ chin in a tender manner in order to lift Stiles’ face upward. His thumb caressed the curve of Stiles’ bottom lip. “Peter needs someone in the Citadel,” he offered.

Stiles’ eyes widened at that. “You hate court life no matter how small,” he almost mumbled.

Derek faintly smiled. “I find it tolerable when you’re with me.” He caressed his thumb against the curve of Stiles’ cheek. “Besides, Peter’s changing things. I figured we can change things here, too. Maybe get rid of the Court all together.”

Stiles held back his soft laughter as he reached his hands moved across Derek’s collarbone, fingers dipping down into the parting of his shirt. He looked at Derek, knowing his uncertainty showed.

“Tell me you don’t want that and I won’t say yes,” Derek offered.

Stiles released a heavy sigh. “But is it what you want?” He asked in a weak voice, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Yes,” Derek effortlessly stated. “To have you and Natalia in my life, is what I want.”

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles gently spoke his name.

“Life outside the palace, with a loving family, where I can make a difference,” Derek explained. “That’s all I ever wanted Stiles. And I want that with you.”

Stiles pulled Derek into a kiss, his arms moving to wrap around Derek’s shoulders as he held on tightly.

“Is that a yes?” Derek whispered into their kisses.

“Yes—a thousand times, yes,” Stiles smiled as he kissed Derek again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They get married. They have more babies.
> 
> Boyd stays with Derek to help protect him, and he ends up falling in love with Erica. They get married and have babies.
> 
> Peter and Lydia get married and have babies.
> 
> You see the pattern here.  
> All is wonderful.


End file.
